Romansis
by Heath Wingwhit
Summary: Hawke and Bethany deal with conflicting and inappropriate thoughts toward one another. F! Hawke x Bethany
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Somebody asked for this ridiculous story- and while I don't think it's half as good as the Warden is- here it is. Sometimes ridiculous is more fun than wanting to kill yourself. This first chapter is much more serious than the others turn out to be (as some might remember).

* * *

><p>"I don't like Kirkwall, Sister."<p>

They've only been in Kirkwall (that is, away from the Gallows where all the other Fereldan refugees are rounded up and inside the city) for a few hours now. They're walking through Lowtown, getting to know the place, trying to find some joy now that they've seen where they'll be living for the better part of a year. The Amells couldn't have entrusted their finances to their mother? No, they left it to Gamlen who is as sour of an old man as Hawke has ever met. That would be like leaving the Hawke estate (if there was one to be had) to Carver. Hawke thinks of Carver and saddens. She looks at Bethany who has been inconsolable and puts on a happy face. "Are you put off by all the mopey slaves tastefully attached to everything? Or is it just all the barred windows or… perhaps the endless droves of templars that aren't to your liking? I rather think that Lowtown has its charm: why, the rats are out during the day, aren't they brave?" Bethany is not amused. "We could go back to Lothering. There's only pesky darkspawn to deal with there—oh, and all the fire…"

"I almost think I'd rather chance that," Bethany says chagrined.

"We could live in a cinder house, with just the base of the home standing like charred little matchsticks." They walk by the vendor booths—how strange to have so many people of different races: dwarves, elves, humans all mingling together. There is nothing like the Blight to bring people together. Who'd have thought? And here it is sunny—it isn't clean but it isn't endless mud like Lothering either. What a shitty little village. But she had loved that shitty little village and all its delights. By which she means the maidens. She continues to weave her tale for Bethany, "It'd be open for everyone to see our business but the people of Lothering are unintrusive, and even if they aren't, they're likely dead or have abandoned the village. Not only that, we would have an abundance of the pungent farm animal smell drifting through our lovely cinder home."

Bethany slows to look at some of the fabrics an Antivan man has on its display. There's a pretty red one, sheer and soft. Bethany touches it tentatively. It's two sovereigns. Hawke wouldn't want to break it, either. "You aren't half as charming as you think, Sister." Bethany warns, the adorable little crease she gets by her brow, ever persistent around her presence (and Carver's) ever since childhood, reemerging again.

"Then it's a good thing all the other pretty girls find me charming enough for the both of us," Hawke throws an arm around Bethany's shoulders and draws her closer. "I know how you hate this fool sister of yours at times, but I promise—we will get out of this. And erm, I'll behave."

"You? Behave?" Bethany is well accustomed to having her elder sister scandalize her. She doesn't care to think of how many times she's stumbled into her while she's in the midst of some random tryst with some silly pretty girl. And they're always pretty; Hawke doesn't settle for anyone average.

"You're not going to start calling me out on my promises, are you? You'll make this a very difficult year."

Bethany smiles and pushes her away.

* * *

><p>"You have a talent for stealing," Bethany says both charmed and irritated by her sister's skills. Hawke is currently using a set of lockpicks to work open a chest Athenril wants. "Honestly, how do you pick these things up so quickly?"<p>

"I had to work my way up to stealing hearts, dear Bethy. Where do you think I started?"

The two of them are in some dock warehouse in the middle of the night. This has become their life. Stealing to survive, doing things that would sadden their father, that saddens their mother. Bethany can't figure if Carver would enjoy it. She shuffles and leans against the wall, looking back now and then, keeping a lookout. She's the muscle, in some ways and her 'esteemed' older sister does the majority of the criminal work. Bethany wishes their uncle hadn't spoken about her as some prized ham to be bought. But if she weren't a prized ham they might be in the Gallows with all the other refugees and she surely doesn't want to be there. "Why do I continue to expect real responses from you?" She sighs. "What do you think of Athenril?"

"She's attractive and a good kisser. I knew one of those things before we started working for her and I suspected the other. You won't believe how flexible elves are." She glances back at Bethany, the alluringly cocky smile tugging her lips up. Bethany frowns without meaning to—really, this is just her typical sister. Hawke looks somewhat flustered and turns back to the chest. There's a click and she pushes the chest open. "See? What did I tell you?"

They peer inside. Papers. Hawke swears.

"You couldn't find a chest with a good meal inside?" Bethany asks. Her stomach rumbles.

* * *

><p>"How are you settling into Kirkwall, Bethany?" Hawke asks. It's late in the night and they've gotten back not long ago. They're both in their bunks, Hawke on top and Bethany on the bottom. It's only been a few weeks but she doesn't think the transition has been good for her sister. They both miss Carver. Their mother still spends hours of the night crying over him. That's normal, isn't it? To be expected? Hawke doesn't. She can't. Someone has to be strong; stronger. She hates this home that smells of cabbage. She wishes she could return to Lothering but there's nothing there now but Darkspawn. She wonders if there's anything left to salvage.<p>

"Oh, as well as I can, I suppose. There's _so many _templars. But the city's like a maze, isn't it? More hiding spots. I like to pretend that they aren't terribly bright. It's just their swords I'm afraid of, really. I don't suppose you could charm them in some way and keep their attention off of me?"

"Whoring your sister out to your dreaded enemy? Lowtown's depravity claims another innocent soul." Hawke smiles wryly and rolls to the side of the bed, jumping down adroitly to the floor. Bethany sits up and Hawke has a seat at the edge of her bed. "You know I won't let them hurt you." Hawke touches her face. Bethany closes her eyes and nods twice, as if all that she really wants is to believe. Hawke's hand falls away, landing near Bethany's. Only their fingertips brush. "Maybe that's…questionable after Carver, but—"

"That wasn't your fault," Bethany says impassioned. Her hand grasps Hawke's, holding it tightly. "You've got to know that." Hawke only offers a conciliatory smile in response. Bethany doesn't release her hand. "But I do miss him. Do you think he'd like it here?"

Hawke laughs sadly. "Can you imagine Carver in Lowtown? He'd complain of the smell of piss, and the size of the home and how the bed isn't quite large enough and how all the Hightown nobles turn their noses up at us. Oh, he'd hate it. But still… I would love to hear him complain all the same."

"Me too."

Hawke cups her face again. "I can't imagine how hard it's been for you." Bethany smiles bravely but her eyes are wet, her fingers brush along Hawke's wrist. Hawke feels a shiver looking into her sister's eyes, warm and heartbroken. She is flushed with feeling, with the need to take action, to make all those tears go away. She knows how she would do this with a regular girl. But Bethany isn't like other girls. She's prettier, for one. Younger. And most importantly, she's her bloody sister. Hawke has only felt petrified once, weeks ago. She does now again. She pulls her hand away from Bethany's, pulls her touch away from her face. She clears her throat. "Anyway… you should sleep. Yes. Beauty rest. How else will you ever compete with that stunning older sister of yours? You know there's a Viscount here. I could marry the old goat and make us all nobles like that," she snaps her fingers. A smile comes to Bethany's face. Yes. If she wants to cheer her sister, this is the way. Not… not in any other sort of perverted way. "And I hear his son's a little…" she makes a motion to indicate that his attention might be more captured by men than women, "but with a pretty face like yours I bet you could turn him."

"Sister—" Bethany says. Ah, that word again. Bethany leans over and kisses her cheek. Hawke is glad for the blanket of darkness. Why the void is she blushing? "Thank you."

Hawke nods and stands. "Actually… I'm wide awake. You rest," she wags a finger at her and quickly strips out of her night clothing, dressing in her city clothes again. "I'm going to go for a…walk." Bethany tells her to be careful. Hawke promises that she will. But the only danger she's in is Athenril's passionate throes. The last time Hawke was with her the woman took her back to task. But that sort of passion and fire is what Hawke needs right now. She's just tired. She doesn't really think or feel things like that. Her sister does not make her blush. No one does. She's tired. She's stressed. That's all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I think in this chapter, if i recall correctly, the story becomes really ridiculous.

* * *

><p>Bethany glances up when the door to their bedroom in Gamlen's home quietly eases open. Hawke has come home from fornicating with one of her women. It must have been someone from Hightown, the perfume smells of flowers and vanilla. Hawke is agile but when she returns from being with her assortment of women she has a particular slinkiness to her that reminds Bethany of a satisfied cat. Her movements, rehearsed with anyone else, are just part of Hawke's natural grace.<p>

Hawke is a bigger womanizer than Carver ever was. She always has a different perfume clinging to her skin whenever she sneaks into bed in the middle of the night. Sometimes she has stories that she is all too delighted to share—for example, Athenril has tattoos and not just on her arms. She _chortles. _Bethany disapproves. Anyway, it isn't like she wants to know what… Athenril looks like nor does she want to think of her sister with some woman. It makes her uncomfortable. That's her _sister. _Oh, she really should give up on Hawke ever setting a fine example for her. When has Hawke ever acted like a proper sister? She encourages mischief more often than not. If anything, Hawke could take a few cues from her.

"We should get you a boyfriend," Hawke proclaims.

"I suppose I should snag one before you run out of Kirkwall women and move on to the men," Bethany says. She sits in bed reading by candlelight; it's a small book of fairy tales that her father had given her and Carver when they were children—one of the few possessions salvaged during the attack on Lothering. She looks up to see Hawke smirk at her. Hawke has been attending to so many women lately that she could give the women of the Blooming Rose competition. Or maybe it only seems that way. What does she know of these things? It isn't as if she's ever… "I really can't compete with a slattern like you."

"No, you can't and mind your tongue." Hawke undoes the belts that loop her daggers to her back and throws them on the floor. They fall with a heavy clunk. Hawke isn't as mindful as Aveline is. "Where's that reverence that you should hold for me?"

"It must have been lost in the fire in Lothering. Anyway, I'll reserve it until you start acting like a proper older sister," Bethany flips the page in the book; there's an illustration of a girl subduing a beast.

"What fun would that be?" Hawke mutters. She falls to Bethany's bed and wipes at her eyes. "I am knackered."

"Is it so surprising? You drink and you whore, Sister."

"How dare you? You forgot that I also steal and swindle. It's very hard to fit in all of those things into a single day." Hawke swats Bethany's leg. Bethany is keenly aware of the brief pressure of her fingers along her thigh. "And when are you going to start following my fine example? You know what that woman—erm, whatever her name is on the hill, told me the other day? That she'd rather take you to bed because you're better looking than I am."

"That's rude," Bethany says quietly. Is it too much to hope that someone might admire her for some of the traits that she has control over? Not just the looks, not just the magic? Anyway, Hawke is plenty attractive. Everyone looks at her. How can they help it? With her charcoal hair and eyes both bright and dark like sapphires, someone would have to be blind to not admire her.

"Tell me about it. What a blatant lie, and to say it to my face! I was so angry I nearly put my clothes back on." Hawke smiles when Bethany laughs. Hawke curls on the end of the bed much like the Mabari does at times. Bethany wonders where Aveline is. She's been staying out late for the past few nights, no doubt feeling herself a burden despite being anything but. Aveline, more often than not sleeps on a mat in the living room, always refusing Bethany's offer to trade out with her. Bethany wonders if they'll really allow a Fereldan into the guard. She shifts her legs to accommodate Hawke who is twisting and turning on the bed. She's been antsy lately though Bethany can't figure out why. Maybe Hawke will tell her. "Back to this business of a boyfriend—"

Or not. "I can find my own, thanks." Bethany closes the thin book and sets it aside. "Why does it matter?"

Hawke rests an arm along her forehead. "It doesn't." then, just as suddenly: "Aren't you lonely, Bethany?"

Bethany swears that Hawke has the attention span of a deranged squirrel at times. Despite this, she is puzzled. Lonely? "I miss Carver so much. But I have mother and Aveline. I have you." She says. Hawke's features screw up tightly and Bethany feels a pang. There is no clever joke this time but she feels as if she has been judged and judged unfavorably.

Hawke stands with some vexation and slips into her night clothes. "You really need to grow up," Hawke pulls herself up to the top bunk with a small grunt. Bethany sees her moving above her and sees the mattress curve in the darkness to her weight. What does growing up have to do with anything? She asks. Hawke tells her to go to sleep.

* * *

><p>The woman slaps her so hard she nearly knocks Hawke's baguette into next Tuesday. Day of the week not withstanding, the baguette falls some five feet away into the one patch of Hightown mud. Hawke doesn't pay attention to the fact that she's been slapped—the woman (ah, another scorned woman) hits like a girl, a <em>rich <em>girl, not one of the scrappy Lowtown ones. Hawke is used to stout dwarves that weigh more than her chasing after her with cleavers. This woman (blast, what is her name!) doesn't matter. What matters is that Hawke sees heartbreak on Bethany's face; not because her elder, beloved sister has been unjustly assaulted but because Bethany had picked out that baguette and already she'd dreamed of eating it or having it with some of that stone hard cheese. Bethany doesn't get enough to eat. Hawke knows that, despite her sister's curves. Not that she notices them. Not that it would be bad to notice them. She's allowed eyes. Aveline has some curves, too (mostly on her toned arms). "What the void was that for?" Hawke asks. Did she find out about Catherine? Or Chris? Or Melissa? She grins wickedly thinking of them.

"For days I have waited for you!" The woman says in her exaggerated Orlesian accent, Hawke _swears _it isn't real, "and here, you have the nerve to turn up in Hightown, in front of me, with your new harlot?" here she shoots daggers at Bethany with her eyes.

Bethany says: "Whaaaaaaaaat?"

Hawke could punch the bitch—the Orlesian woman she bedded whose name she can't remember, that is. Oh, if only there were a handy excuse like blood magic to be had and not just her hysterical jealousy. Sigh. "Don't be daft, my dear woman," she steps away from Bethany and wraps her arm around the woman's shoulders, trying desperately to remember her name. Is it Sherry? Cherie? Fuck. Leliana? No, oh, how she wishes, but no. "That's only my younger sister. Say hello, Bethany." Bethany glares. It makes her look like some fiery deity. "She's shy."

"Do you usually go around attacking women like that?" Bethany asks. "I thought you Orlesians were supposed to have manners." Look at Bethany with all her moxie! Hawke is proud. Bethany crosses her arms, and there, Hawke sees that line once again on her forehead, but this time, indignation! Bethany marches up to the Orlesian woman, ignoring Hawke altogether. She shoots her hand out much like the buggers in Darktown, but with more class, with an air of dignity. "I worked bloody hard for that baguette and you're going to pay for it. I want my three silvers."

"Is this woman really your sister?" The woman asks Hawke in her exaggerated Orlesian accent. Hawke narrows her eyebrows on the woman, too occupied trying to place her name to answer the question. She'll have to take her to bed and make her scream again. She's absolutely _positive _that her accent vanishes during climax.

"She's not the one you have to worry about. Three silvers." Bethany points at her hand helpfully. The Orlesian woman reaches into a red silk purse and gives it to her. Bethany's eyes brighten as if she's just received candy. Then, she seems to remember and they harden again. Hawke smiles fondly at her. "I'm not going to thank you. I am going to buy some bread. You two… do whatever you're going to do," she leaves without saying a word to her.

Hawke is miffed. She whispers sweet things into the 'Orlesian' woman's ears, promising to return shortly and catches up to Bethany, taking hold of her elbow before she's gotten too far along. "Way to show some spine!" Hawke says with a grin. "Aveline would be pleased but my opinion is more important and I'm happier than a bird with an Orlesian chip."

"What's the matter with you?" Bethany asks. Hawke arches her eyebrows. "Can you really not separate your women well enough that they attack you in the middle of the street? What happens when one of your fanatics comes after _me_?"

"My sister in a catfight over me? Oh, will wonders never cease. We all know who'd win that battle," she says pinching Bethany's cheek with a wink. Hightown trollop versus her exceptionally talented mage sister. She'd still pay to see it. "Thank you for standing up for me, by the way. Your concern…," she pauses meaningfully, "it literally rends my heart." Bethany looks angry. Hawke feels strangely guilty. She tries to be serious. "Oh, Bethy. I wouldn't let them lay a hand on you. I've daggers and I've already made use of their hands." Besides, hands aren't always necessary. She laughs. Bethany isn't entertained. Oh, no. Has dear Carver possessed her sweet sister? Talk about an abomination. "Don't you think her accent was off? You remember Leliana's. This woman—" Ah, shit. Bethany picks up on it straight away. "You can't blame me for having fun."

Bethany's lips are set firmly. "I'm going to get a baguette."

"Will you save me a piece? With some butter. And don't let Cilantro get into it again! That blasted Mabari will eat us all when the food is gone. What sort of dog just eats butter? Just… just e_ats _it?"

"Don't they eat their own… you know." Bethany makes a face and shakes her head. "I'll save you a piece," she says and turns her head to look to the Orlesian woman who is beginning to look suspicious again, as if she may have to slap Hawke once more or maybe Bethany this time just to make sure. "Anyway… you're much too pretty for her."

"So you admit that I'm pretty," Hawke says stepping closer with a grin. "It's the eyes, isn't it?" Bethany flicks her eyes to Hawke's face and then away. What is she saying? Of course she's pretty and of course Bethany knows it. She experiences a moment of panic. Has she just flirted with her? It's just habit. She flirts with everybody. Good, delicious habits are hard to break. She wants to tell Bethany that the stupid 'Orlesian' cow (in comparison to Bethany, anyway) doesn't mean anything but what would the point of that be? Oh, blast. She's just reading too much into everything. She feels guilty for the bread or… "And everything else," she finishes lamely.

Bethany rolls her eyes. "I will not feed your ego." She takes Hawke's arm and squeezes it. "I know how you love your stupid games but you'll be careful, won't you? I've already lost a sibling to darkspawn. I don't want to lose another to—" she looks at the woman and tsks, "that."

"You know those women don't mean a thing," she brushes a kiss to Bethany's cheek, too close to her lips. In broad daylight. In bloody Hightown. Hawke freezes. Bethany doesn't seem to notice. She releases Hawke's arm and turns quickly. Bethany's leaving when Hawke grabs her arm again. "Erm—I'm sorry about all that. You know how huffy these Hightown women are."

"Not really." She stops. "You won't be out all night again, will you?" She shuffles. "The bread will get hard—and I get bored when you aren't near. You're a demon but… rather the friendly sort."

Hawke smiles, reassured. "I'll return soon. I promise." She says gently. Bethany nods once and reluctantly goes on her way. Hawke wonders when Bethany grew up. When did she get a figure like that? Why did the Maker make the most attractive woman in Kirkwall her sister? Is it some kind of bloody joke? It doesn't matter. So her sister is pretty. So Bethany thinks _she's _pretty. Sisters can say that. Sisters can think that. Hawke wonders where she's going. She's filled with mounds of energy. She finds the woman again and wraps an arm around her shoulder once more. "Tell me," she says, "how do the Antivan's pronounce your name? I know they can never get mine right…" Lies, lies. Maybe sleeping with this woman would be too much of a bother. She's not as pretty as some. She looks back towards where Bethany was but she's already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: When I was initially writing this I put out a chapter a day. Now that it's all done I'm waiting months per chapter. I have no idea what I'm doing. I remember having a lot of fun of fun with this forever ago.

* * *

><p>Bethany thought she was reading a letter but it turns out she's reading filth. She had spotted Gamlen shaking the letter moments ago, having peeled the envelope open before seeing her and scurrying away. "Something for you or your blasted sister," he complained going to the door, "you can't fault me for thinking I'm receiving mail in my own home."<p>

"I did see one about some debts you may owe…?" Bethany suggested helpfully. He'd bah'ed, reminding her of one of the surlier sheep in Lothering and exited into the night. That poor, abused animal. The sheep.

Gamlen gone, Bethany pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. She didn't immediately know who it was addressed to as no name was listed. So she read. It sang her sister's praises. The letter started appropriately enough, speaking of the brightness of Hawke's eyes before speaking more admiringly of her clever tongue. Before going on to the heat and skill and endurance of that tongue. "What does that mean," Bethany asks under her breath.

The letter proceeds to answer her question, in great detail. Bethany's face goes red. Her fingers tremble. Oh, Maker. This letter is not for her. She must stop reading it. She must stop reading it. _Stop now, Bethany. Stop now, Bethany. Now._ _**Now.**_"Oh, Maker…" she breathlessly reads ahead. Her heart pounds.

When the front door to the home creaks open, her heart nearly bursts from her chest. Bethany quickly stuffs the letter back into the envelope, ripping one corner in the process. She runs away from the writing desk, letter in hand before she throws it back in an arch. It lands clumsily in the corner, wobbling precariously before lying still.

It's only her mother and Aveline. Aveline's face is bruised, her lip split. Training for the city guard has been difficult. Her mother's face is full of concern. But Aveline asks: "What is your face so red for?"

"It isn't," Bethany defends. "It's hot!" she adds when they look at her. There is snow on Aveline's shoulder. "Let me take care of that," she says to Aveline, pulling her to the room. She's just glad to have someone to do—something to do. Something. Not someone.

* * *

><p>Hawke walks to the bedroom, reading her letter as she goes. Gamlen is sitting at the small table with a bottle of alcohol and a pack of cards. He grins lecherously at her. Oh, blast, he's read the bloody letter hasn't he? That's why it's ripped. Still, she enjoys Mizzy's recap of her performance—what a scamp that girl is. She enters the room, throws the letter into the fireplace (if her mother read it she'd flay her) and pulls her clothes off. She replaces them with an oversized weathered shirt before climbing up to her bunk and sliding under the sheets. It is bloody cold in Kirkwall to—oh, sweet Maker it's Bethany.<p>

Hawke, unnaturally, slaps her (bare!) leg. "Bethany!" She whispers as if Bethany had ripped her shirt away and exposed herself. Maybe she should have whispered first before slapping her. Bethany's eyes open. She looks at her. Hawke stares back, her eyes stupidly wide. Why is – why is Bethany—they haven't shared a bed since they were children—Oh, they can't do that. Not now. Not all… adult. Grown up. Grown up. "What are you doing here?" she demands.

"Mother insisted," Bethany says with a delightful little yawn. She rubs at her eyes and shifts. Her legs slide against Hawke's who nearly jumps from the bed. Better to do that and break her neck then jump on her sister. _Yes, yes. Be a good sister and jump off the bed and break your neck. The women of Kirkwall will be devastated but you will spare everyone your shame._ "Aveline had a rough night and Mother didn't want her falling off the bed."

"I sleep here every night." When she isn't sleeping at other's places, anyway. "What about my neck? Do you know how the people of Kirkwall are attached to it? I'd prefer if it weren't broken. Blast." Bethany looks at her curiously. Oh, this must sound strange. An instance of the 'lady' doth protest too much. "Fine," Hawke mutters. "Just let me—" She shifts. Bethany's hand inadvertently grazes too closely to her upper thigh. Hawke bites back a shriek and quickly rises, best as she can with the ceiling not too many inches above her head. She hovers over Bethany for a moment, much the same way she has hovered over her many women.

"Um—" Bethany stares up at her, "what do you want me to do?" Oh, Maker, what doesn't she want her to do? _What is wrong with me? _It's imperative that she gets away from her darling sister, swiftly. She starts to pull away, forgetting about the low altitude of the ceiling in the process. Her head slams into it and she yowls, her head reflexively coming down until it's near buried in her sister's ample bosom. She stares, lips parted. _Away, away, get away from her—_She starts to shoot up again when Bethany takes a handful of the front of her night shirt, the other hand wrapping behind her neck, keeping her from slamming into the ceiling again. "What's the matter with you?" she asks, her face full of concern but her voice rife with irritation, "you're not usually so clumsy."

"I've been drinking," she explains. But she hasn't. She hasn't drunk anything all evening! A cause for alarm in any case, asides wanting to diddle her sister like there's no tomorrow. The chantry doesn't teach that it's cute sisters that make abominations. Oh, she's wrong, so wrong, so horribly wrong. "Let me—just get behind you," she says forcing herself to the side of her. They lay side by side, their arms touching. Bethany turns her head to look at her. "Um, will you turn on your side? So I don't have to look at your face?" Hawke says. Bethany opens her mouth, ready, no doubt, with some little insult. "The bed is small. It isn't meant for more than one person. Unless—" Bites her tongue, "just turn!"

Bethany does so in a panic. "You're odd!"

"Yes, well…" To the void with her rampant libido. She sees that Bethany is half hanging off the bed now. What she'd hate more than anything is for Bethany to fall in the middle of the night and snap her neck. "Here, slide back," before she can say anything, Hawke wraps an arm around Bethany's waist and draws her close. "This is called 'spooning' but I'll just call it 'keeping our necks intact' tonight. I'd hate for either one of us to fall off the bed, especially before our year of servitude is up. Uncle would somehow get mother into stealing; can you imagine it? 'Excuse me good sir but my pitiful philandering daughter has died, would you might please spare a coin?'"

"That's begging, not stealing."

"Exactly." She settles her chin in the crook of Bethany's shoulder. Maker she smells good. She didn't think anything in Lowtown could smell good. Bethany stiffens suddenly. Hawke grows nervous. Does she know? She's only trying to get comfortable! She isn't—she wouldn't—she'd never act on it. Not ever! No matter how—oh, her legs are so soft...! Hawke rolls her fingers into a fist so they won't touch anywhere. "Gamlen read my letter," she says nervously. "It—it was Gamlen, wasn't it? The envelope was torn; he was no doubt searching for coppers. I'm sure that letter gave him more of a thrilling experience than anything at the Rose."

"I wouldn't know, I didn't read it," Bethany's words are a blur.

"Oh good. I'd hate for you to have read that. On the other hand…" She can't figure out who the bigger pervert is. She or her uncle? Or Mizzy? Him. Definitely him. "Ugh, he's disgusting."

Bethany uncurls Hawke's fist and twines their fingers together. "Your fist was digging into my stomach," she says. "Let's sleep, Sister." She moves about some, getting comfortable, taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly.

Hawke does not sleep the entire night. Her healthy imagination keeps her frustrated and excited. She could go out and find Athenril and solve the bed dilemma once and for all but why get out of the warm bed where she is innocently enough pressed to her sister, no matter how hedonist and debased her thoughts are. She had thought rampant, promiscuous sex would cure her of her urges but no. It's official. She's the biggest pervert, by far.

* * *

><p>Bethany goes to the chantry because it's the one place her sister tends not to step foot in. Bethany avoids it too; templars like it about as much as they like the Blooming Rose (Hawke has informed her it's a little safer at the chantry, actually). She can't stop thinking of Mizzy's dirty letter—and she probably shouldn't be thinking of things like that in a chantry! Will the Maker judge her?<p>

Oh, Maker, give her guidance. Her thoughts are impure and she's a bloody mage on top of that. She does not know who the mystery woman of the letter is but she knows Hawke and no matter how she tried to sleep the night prior, her thoughts kept returning to her sister's bedroom (though not always, it seems) activities. How does she do those things? How can she do those things? What do those things feel like? Eventually she realized she'd only fixated on Marian on that end of the equation. Blight.

It's only that she misses Carver. She misses Carver and—and her sister is the only sibling she has left. They've always been closer and… and maybe she does need a boyfriend. Or maybe she should marry the Maker. Become a lay sister.

A lay sister.

She had lain with her sister last night. Her cheeks flush. She finds a nearby Revered Mother and asks for a blessing. She receives it but feels there are not enough blessings to spare her. Lay sister. Did the Maker invent that term to test her? Along with her magical abilities? Is she some horrible abomination?

She dispiritedly leaves the chantry only to see Hawke approach with her arm around the waist of another woman Bethany doesn't recognize. She's taller, like they are with long brown hair and stiff, straight bangs. Blue eye shadow. The Maker does have a sense of humor. A bloody mean one. "Bethany!" Hawke says, "Look what I picked up for you!" she points at the woman besides her.

"She didn't 'pick me up'," the woman says.

"Of course not," Hawke says while nodding her head to Bethany in the affirmative. "This is Charade. She's pretty, isn't she? Better yet, she isn't family. Um—" Bethany's cheeks flare. Oh, Maker, it can't be that Hawke knows that—She notices that Hawke's cheeks have reddened, too. Is she embarrassed for her? Bethany can't think of anything more mortifying! It isn't as if it's like that, it's just that—she's a growing woman and it's natural to think of sex. Or, or maybe it is, she doesn't know. And her sister just happens to be the most sexual person she knows. That's all. "And—." Hawke looks at her, looking fuzzy and lost for a moment. "There—there was a point in there… Oh yes. You could use a friend. We can't spend all of our time together, after all. That's weird."

"We're sisters."

"Right."

Charade looks between the two of them, mentioning something just remembered and excusing herself. Bethany looks after her and then to Hawke. "What kind of a name is Charade?" she asks.

"I think she's an exotic dancer," Hawke says with some delight, elbowing her gently in the ribs. "You don't have a name like that unless you're a dancer. Oh, I bet she's a sight on a pole! Both kinds," she grins. Both kinds? Oh. Okay. Those kinds. "You were in the chantry? You know I've told you it's dangerous in there."

"I…needed some air." She needed some guidance. Not that she got any. But how to confess that her thoughts have been somehow perverted? She can't explain the situation without it coming out funny. And not Hawke's jokes funny but funny like that blond dwarven boy she saw months ago in Lothering.

"In there?"

"Yes?"

Hawke crosses her arms thoughtfully. "You know, I hear those lay sisters used to be prostitutes or something! I bet they get lonely in there. Can you imagine what tricks they might have up their sleeves? But maybe there are younger, virtuous ones, too. Wide eyed and sweet, barely having kissed, not yet knowing the joys of the flesh… I wouldn't mind helping them find the Maker or touching their Andraste's grace." She smiles smugly. "That eternal flame can't hold a candle to me."

"That's terrible," Bethany says, her throat dry. She briefly imagines Hawke pressing one of the sisters to the railing or to one of the small rooms, slipping her hand beneath their robes. A moment later the fantasy transforms so it is her that Hawke is pressing to a small, dark room. In the imagining, books clutter the floor…Bethany figures that's symbolic in some way but that doesn't matter because in the fantasy, Bethany doesn't care. All there is to see is the brightness of Hawke's eyes. In the dream, she is heady with anticipation for the brush of Hawke's lips against her own. Bethany is dizzy. "I've got to go!" She says suddenly and runs down the steps, leaving Hawke behind.

"Eh?" Hawke turns to look after her. "But, but I wouldn't actually do it, Bethy! Come on!"

Bethany can't figure why she pretends not to have heard the last.

* * *

><p>"I will only impose on you one night further," Aveline says as the three women settle in for the night. "It shames me to have to take your bed but with the mabari's constant scratching, the weather and this cold I have managed to catch, I must take precautions to not further harm my chances for getting into the guard."<p>

"Perhaps we should sleep together," Hawke offers to Aveline. "What do you say? I'm a delight in bed. I could even get you some glowing letters of recommendation if you doubt my word."

Aveline looks at Hawke so sharply that Bethany swears that if one could be murdered by a look, Hawke would be in pieces all over the floor. "What about me?" Bethany offers. "I'm bathed and clean and—" she tries to ignore how Hawke looks at her and then does everything in her power to not look at her. Has she made her uncomfortable again?

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not," Aveline says with a sigh. She settles into the bottom bunk, hastily pulling a blanket over her frame. "I promise this night will be the last. You're sisters. That's natural, at least."

Bethany and Hawke laugh nervously. Aveline turns on her side to face the wall, her part of the conversation finished. Bethany and Hawke exchange looks. Hawke climbs up first, not bothering to change out of the clothes she was wearing when they were out earlier in the evening stealing for Athenril. Eventually Bethany climbs the ladder and Hawke takes her hand once she's near the top, pulling her in.

They both kneel awkwardly, hands nervously on their thighs as they look around the room. Oh, look: a cobweb in the corner. Bethany sees no spider. She imagines that it might have starved. Finally Bethany says: "You're going to sleep in that?" Hawke's completely clad in leather save for her boots which she's removed.

"It's a chilly night," Hawke says.

Bethany doesn't think it's that chilly but she nods and lies down. A moment later Hawke does the same. Their sides touch. They turn their heads and look at each other. "Well, good night." Bethany says. Hawke says the same. Bethany's nervous. Hawke laughs for no reason. Bethany takes a deep breath. She doesn't dare to move, even when a strand of hair falls over onto her cheek, tickling her. Hawke reaches out, tucking it tenderly behind her ear. Bethany breathes her name, despite how she'd wanted for the name to lodge in her throat never to come out.

"Hm?" Hawke's fingers graze along the tip of Bethany's ear, the curve of her cheekbone.

The fire in the corner of the room lights Hawke's face lovingly. Her eyelashes are accented, her lips made inviting. Bethany heaves a breath. She is sick with desire. Hawke's thumb grazes her lips. Bethany's heart throttles her. Bethany wraps her fingers gently around Hawke's wrist.

Hawke freezes.

"Tomorrow," Bethany says, taking a breath, forcing the words, "tomorrow let's find me a boyfriend."

Hawke's pulse is fast beneath her fingertips.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Again, I have no excuse for posting these so late. But I'm being reminded by all your reviews, guys! THanks! Who the hell would think this would be my most popular story (recently)? Ah, if they weren't sisters all my stories would be about them. Alas...! Here's some more Marithany.

* * *

><p>Darktown stinks of piss, wet hay and dirty people. Hawke brings Bethany there to look for a boyfriend. Bethany may 'want' a boyfriend but she doesn't 'need' a boyfriend. Hawke had initially made the suggestion to keep her own licentious thoughts at bay. Her theory was that if Bethany had a boyfriend, then Hawke's disgusting desires would stop. But no. Oh, no. Now Hawke reasons that if Bethany gets a boyfriend, she will still want her virginal younger sister and not only that, she'd make her a cheater to boot. No. No. No, she wouldn't. Bethany isn't a slattern like her. Why, she wonders if Bethany has ever even kissed or knows what wonderful things the body is capable of. Does she touch herself? <em>Why am I thinking of that!? <em>What a terrible sister she is. _Would I hear her if she did?_ _Stop. Stop. __**Stop.**_Hawke looks at Bethany's attractive profile and thinks: _I could show—No! _"What about him?" she points at random. Her finger pointing lands on an old man, bent over and shaped like a cane in rags that are either naturally brown, brown with mud or, judging by the smell, brown by…

Bethany looks at Hawke with surprise. Oh, the dear. She thinks Hawke is taking this seriously. Sweet as ever, or perhaps somewhat dull in the head, she only points out the obvious: "He's so…old."

Yes! One avoided. Hawke is convinced she can keep this game up for as long as it takes. Is she selfish for not wanting her sister to not be with anybody if she can't have her? _**No. **_"Him?" This time she's pointed to a man who could be four men, in fact, Hawke isn't sure that he isn't some monstrous abomination, he's so large. His belly hangs over like a sack of dirty laundry. "He must have coin!" Everyone else in Darktown is rail thin.

"But he's so… fat." She adorably shrinks the last word.

"What about that one, over there?" She points to Lithan, a man in his mid-forties with a paunch and an ugly scar under his eye. Lithan is a smuggler who 'competes' with Athenril. His specialty is poisoned traps and he has a penchant for abusing and exploiting his workers.

"He treats all his elven workers so poorly. And isn't he married with children?" Bethany finally looks cross. She tugs nervously at the kerchief around her neck. Hawke considers pulling it away and pressing a kiss there. Oh, why couldn't the darkspawn have taken her when she was still somewhat virtuous? "Sister, are you taking this at all seriously? Or—," she adds with some reluctance, her cheeks going rosy, "or do you think I can do no better?"

Hawke sighs with exasperation. She throws her hands up to further throw Bethany off her trail. "Here I am doing my best to find you a boyfriend and you are letting your pretentiousness get the better of you. You aren't a noble yet, Bethy. We all have to start somewhere."

"Did we have to start in Darktown?" A rat scurries over her boot, returns and runs in circles around it. Bethany shoos at it politely.

"Where do you suggest?" Hawke crosses her arms. "Why are you so insistent on a boyfriend, anyway? Are you thinking of becoming promiscuous with your older sister?" Bethany stares. Hawke stares. Bethany's face has gone red like a tomato. Hawke pinches herself several times over. Ah. This is no dream. But if it were she would take Bethany, even on that disgusting pile of hay. But she'd lie down on it and Bethany could be on top—she likes to think that she can be romantic. But it isn't a dream. Blast.

Hawke begins to ramble once more. "'With' and 'like' are interchangeable. But—but I meant 'like'. Maybe I meant 'without'." Are you thinking of being promiscuous _**without **_your older sister?' Shit! Is that better? Has someone splashed lava on her face? Or maybe a bit of holy chantry water? Her face is on fire! Bethany stammers that she isn't intending on becoming promiscuous with her older sister. That she isn't thinking that at all. Not at all. That it hasn't ever crossed her mind. Not ever. "I'm tired of my efforts not being appreciated," Hawke says defensively, racing to the exit of Darktown, not caring how far Bethany is behind her. Sweet Maker! Was the argument convincing? She's heard better lies from men with their pants around their ankles, ass in the wind and poor dejected sheep in front. Ah, Lothering!

* * *

><p>This business of finding a boyfriend is difficult. It isn't that she doesn't have a type. She does. Why, someone tall, with light eyes and dark hair would suit her just fine. Maybe if they were fair, too. That can't be too difficult, can it? Somehow, it feels wrong. Maybe she should find someone whose skin is sun kissed and bronze, with light, blonde hair! Yes….! She describes the man to Hawke who sneers at her. "You've just described the Knight-Captain Cullen or King Alistair—not asking for much, are we? Stop being such a fool diva."<p>

Bethany pouts.

They're in Lowtown now and Hawke is continuing to point out all sorts of terrible men. Bethany wonders if this is why Hawke spends so much time with women and so little with men. But here! A promising venture! Though…the man is somewhat older. Old enough to be her father. She points this out to Hawke who says 'shut up, you, he's handsome'. "So," Hawke says to Vincento the Antivan salesman, "how would you like to go out with my little sister? Isn't she precious?" Hawke touches Bethany's cheek sweetly and Bethany feels her face warm again. "Not only that but she's mindful of her elders. Smart, but not too smart, if you know what I mean." Bethany opens her mouth to question what the blight Hawke is going on about but Hawke continues. "Not only that, she has other hidden…talents." Leave it to Hawke to make her magic sound like something dirty. Well. She supposes it is. "Say… if you were to date her, could we get, like, a family discount on your goods?" she picks up a fetching scarf.

"Sister…!" Bethany whispers intently to Hawke who has all but forgotten her and is now focused on testing the softness of the scarf against her face. Vincento looks at her. Bethany has noticed this man before, rubbing his hands together. He smiles pleasantly and Bethany doesn't know if it's habit or if he approves of…the new potential wares.

"Hello," Vincento says, in his baritone voice, his words deeply accented. Bethany does feel her knees go a little weak upon hearing it. "I did not know Fereldan women could be so beautiful," he kisses her hand and Bethany blushes. She notices, from the corner of her eye, that Hawke has dropped the scarf and has crossed her arms.

"What about me?" Hawke asks. "I'm rather fetching myself, aren't I? And age appropriate."

"Yes, I suppose," he says politely. Hawke scowls. Vincento returns his attention to Bethany and comes from behind the booth to wrap an arm around her shoulder. He leads her several feet away and Bethany glances back nervously to see if Hawke is keeping an eye on the situation. She isn't. She's picking up several items from Vincento's stand and sticking them in her pockets. Maker, Bethany wonders, is she a lost cause? Vincento speaks to her now, his voice soft and for her alone. "How about I take you to dinner tonight, in Hightown? Antivans make the most…beautiful things, fit for someone as lovely as you. I could have something delivered to you and tonight you and I…" Bethany is captivated and scandalized. Both. She wants to hear more but she doesn't have the opportunity.

Hawke marches up to them and clutches Bethany's wrist, yanking her away. Bethany yelps but Hawke ignores her and focuses on Vincento. "You're old enough to be her father," she points a mean finger at him, "you ought to be ashamed!"

"Were you not the one listing her fine qualities as if a product for sale?" He asks defensively. "Anyway, she's of age…" Vincento looks between the two of them helplessly, "she can make her own decisions."

Hawke scoffs, "No, she can't."

"Sister!" Bethany is irritated. Hawke is usually a pain but this is going a little far, even for her. She isn't a child and she'd like for Hawke to stop treating her like one. Oh, would she. She feels ill.

"Bethy, quit being silly. Let's go home." Hawke says. When Bethany still stands helpless between the two of them, Hawke takes her elbow and squeezes. Her lips are close to her ear and in the chilly winter afternoon, her hot breath makes Bethany just as weak-kneed as Vincento's voice. "You know you don't want to do this so stop being stubborn. I'm sorry if it sounded as if I were trading you off for fine clothing and silks. I'm in the business of selling things. It's habit. But I'd never want to part with you."

Bethany turns to look at her face but focuses on her mouth instead. She rips her gaze away. "I'll go out with you," Bethany blurts to Vincento.

"You can't tonight!" Hawke says to Bethany, "We have—we have – the thing."

"The thing? What thing?"

"You know…" Hawke shifts her weight from one leg to the other. The longer Bethany looks at her the deeper red Hawke's face goes. Ah. Just as Bethany had suspected. Hawke is lying. What a talent she has for making things up on the spot. Her lies are usually better, though. "Fine," she complains softly, "do whatever you like."

Vincento claps his hands once as if a deal has been made. "Very well." He returns to his stand, appears to look for some items only to find them missing. He looks back suspiciously at Hawke who only raises an eyebrow at him. After some digging through various chests he seems to find what he's looking for, giving a satisfying 'ah!' and rejoining Bethany and Hawke. "A fine dress," he extends the box to Bethany, "that I hope will do some justice to your beauty."

Bethany blushes. But before she can respond Hawke steps forward imperiously: "What do I get? I'm a beauty, too."

"I do not call the city-guard on you," he tells her, eyebrows narrowed. Bethany feels her insides wither. "I will see you tonight," he says to Bethany and returns to his stand. The Hawke sisters watch the women who nervously approach him, many adjusting their breasts and sucking in their stomach before going closer.

Bethany had not known that her date was so desired. "Today was a success. Thank you, Sister," Bethany tells Hawke who glares at Vincento before turning the stark blue eyes to her. There is so much anger in Hawke's expression that Bethany momentarily forgets what she's saying. Or maybe she only forgets when Hawke's anger melts into an expression of tenderness and then into something resembling sadness. Bethany is weak-kneed again. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

"I suppose I deserve it for trying to market you as I would a prized ham. But you are my favorite ham." Hawke ruffles her hair. Bethany thinks that ham is for eating. _Thanks, Mizzy. _She coughs and straightens her hair. "Come on. Let's get you home. I'd hate for you to catch a cold. Then _I _would catch a cold and they tend to keep me in bed and _not _in the manner I prefer."

Bethany thinks that at least they no longer have to share a bed.

* * *

><p>"Bethany has a date with a man old enough to be your grandfather, Mother," Hawke says to Leandra. It isn't that she's trying to sabotage her sister's date. It's only that she can't stand the thought of the Antivan or anyone else laying a finger on her. Also, she hopes her mother will do the sabotaging. "Don't try to talk to her about it either. I told her he was after only one thing but she's insisting on being wild, no doubt influenced by the degenerate lifestyle of these Lowtown thugs."<p>

"And not by her older sister?" Leandra asks knowingly. Hawke tries to smile innocently and smirks.

"If she really is related to you and your mother," Gamlen says to Hawke, trying in vain to cut a hard piece of cheese on the table with a blunt knife, "then in no time she'll have taken more men than a whore at the Rose."

"Gamlen!" Leandra says, her cheeks burning bright red.

Hawke tries to decipher the meaning for the blush. Gamlen must take pleasure in how scandalized Leandra is by everything he says. Much like she takes pleasure when Bethany blushes at some of her words. Did Gamlen hit the nail on the head? Oh, she doesn't want to think of her mother like that… She wonders if he ever had any filthy thoughts about her mother. Oh, that's gross. Regardless, Hawke goes to him and pinches his cheek painfully before slapping it just as swiftly. Gamlen clutches his cheek and howls. "You are _such _a card, dear uncle!" She does not want to think of Bethany taking men. The idea of Vincento, naked and proud before Bethany presents itself in her mind. She imagines Bethany pointing at his raised 'staff', asking 'what is that for?' and Vincento, in that sexy accent of his saying, 'ho, ho, ho,' the dirty bastard, 'I will show you.'

Hawke unthinkingly barges into the bathroom where Bethany is bathing in preparation for the date and slams the door shut behind her. Bethany screams, for no good reason, Hawke thinks. "You cannot go out with that man tonight!" she says, "I forbid it! And Mother, too." Bethany is submerged in the water in every teasing way, her hair is pulled up and the slope of her shoulders revealed, the elegant lines of her long neck looking finer than a painting. She has one foot resting delicately on the edge of the tub and Hawke looks at her long, tanned leg, beads of water glistening along it, her thigh disappearing with the other leg beneath the water.

Hawke's mouth has gone dry. She can only think of quenching her thirst by running her tongue along that leg. It takes all her willpower to not strip her clothes and dive into the water with her. "Erm." What was she saying? Something about Mother? She can't remember! "She won't say so… she wants you to think you're making the decision," what decision? "but really it's…put on some clothes."

"What?"

Bethany's face is red. The water must be hot. Blasted mages with their ability to change the water to any appropriate temperature. Not that she hasn't called on Bethany to do just the same for her in the past. "You don't have to go out with that man," Hawke stammers, "we can find someone else."

"He'll do."

He'll _do_? What's gotten into Bethany? She can't use the logic that Hawke uses when it's near morning, she's drunk and she settles for someone that will just _do. _"What about a girl? Nice girls have their charm, they're so sweet and pretty…" she stares at Bethany who looks at her curiously, "and…have such smooth skin." Oh, coming in here was a bad idea. A great, fantastic idea with anybody that wasn't her sister but in this instance... She realizes she's staring and makes herself look away.

"There aren't any nice girls that I like."

"Do you like bad girls?" Hawke asks helpfully. Bethany laughs; she does a delightfully curious thing, turning her head in the opposite direction, a hand delicately on her cheek, her cheeks redder still. Her neck is exposed and Hawke's lively imagination goes on a rampage, she can only think of kneeling beside the tub, kissing along her wet neck, turning that face that refuses to look at her and kissing her deep until Bethany gives in to her and pulls her into the tub, Hawke's fingers— "I have to go!" she tells Bethany angrily.

She hurries out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Oh blast. It's cold. And she's… wet. This is uncomfortable. She practically leaps into her top bunk, her thoughts…and other areas of her, enflamed. She thinks of the gloriously uncomfortable nights she spent with Bethany, filled with thick sexual tension (on her end) and wishes that Aveline had another terrible, but non-life threatening harm befall her so that the situation could arise again. Does she have time to touch herself? Even a stray brush down there now might set her off.

She picks the thin tissue paper pillow and covers her face with it and screams. Why her sister!? Bah. She's tired. She falls asleep without meaning to, pillow still over her face.

Some minutes later she awakens. The pillow has been pulled from her face and Bethany holds on to it, a quizzical smile on her face, leaning adorably into the bed with her arms, either floating (Hawke never knows what new tricks she's learned) or standing on the ladder. "What are you doing?" Bethany asks. Hawke is so surprised that she jumps to a sitting position, once more slamming her head into the ceiling. She lets out several shouts of stringed obscenities, drawing the attention of Gamlen and Leandra. Gamlen soon leaves, bored, and Leandra leaves after telling her 'to be careful, dear. How long have you been sleeping under that roof? You ought to know these things by now.' Hawke turns on her side uselessly, moaning like an injured soldier still and clutching the bruise forming on her head. This is the Maker's punishment for her filthy thoughts, she just knows it.

Bethany chases Hawke's hand away, and covers the bruise with her hand. "You're so clumsy, Marian," she says fondly, her hand warming. Hawke feels the beat of her pulse in the bruise fading from fast to slow until it's gone entirely, until her flesh is smooth and perfect again. Ah, sweet, perfect Bethany, healing her wounds, not knowing she's the one to inflict them through third-party- not-at-all-involved-means.

"Can we switch beds?" Hawke asks pathetically, holding on to the fingers that Bethany still holds against her forehead.

"We'd better. I'd like for you to keep your head." She strokes Hawke's hair gently as she continues to pout. Perhaps charmed by her irresistibly adorable pouting, Bethany presses a soft kiss to where the bruise was. "What are you so jumpy for?"

_Wanting to give my sister a cat's bath with my own tongue. _"Are you really going out with that Vincento?" She asks in a moping voice and then says, ashamed at herself for the pitiful display, "I'm just not feeling very well…" She really ought to be more ashamed of lusting after her sister. But she isn't. Something is definitely wrong with her.

"Nice try, Sister." She says with a roll of her eyes. Damn. Too smart for her own good. "Mother can watch for you," she gives her another quick peck, her aim poor, their lips brushing. A stray touch but Hawke's heart is a flutter! Bethany looks shocked! And then she slips from the ladder. Hawke is glad for it. Otherwise she might have snatched her and taken her in her arms and covered her in kisses. Better she fall. Hawke leans over to look down and hopes that this will be enough to end any date with Vincento. If her foot is injured, Hawke can tenderly wrap it and bring her soup. But no! Bethany is hobbling to her feet, hobbling away from the room, calling out 'I'm fine!' and 'Don't wait up!' Blast!

Hawke sighs. So much for Bethany giving her a hand. Hawke will have to settle for her own.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the Marithany support, everyone! I'm surprised this story is as popular as it is. Maybe I should stick to comedies!

* * *

><p>The candlelight has the opposite effect on Vincento than it does on Hawke. Instead of accenting his natural beauty (as it does with her sister) it only carves the small, usually unnoticeable lines deeply in his face making him look old and stern. Bethany shifts in the plush seat across from him smiling and nodding at what he says while subtly playing with the light of the candle to make it more flattering to him. Maybe if she turns her head to the right, cocks it just so…<p>

She shifts in her seat and winces. Her foot is swollen but she's unsure if she should heal it or use it as a convenient excuse later to go home. But home is the last place she should be. The small skirting of her lips against Hawke's was enough to send her heart racing. Oh, why couldn't she have broken her neck during the fall? Having thoughts of that sort about her older sister. Marian may be a slattern, but she's still an older, devoted and innocent sister. A smidgen innocent, anyway. Innocent enough that she doesn't want to seduce her younger sister or be seduced by her younger sister. Bethany knows it isn't much of a lifeline but she'll cling to it.

Vincento pours her a glass of wine. He tells her that Kirkwall wine is no match for the wine of Antiva but Bethany doesn't care. It's sweet enough and maybe if she drinks a few bottles she can go to bed with him. Maybe a man is all that she needs to cure her incurable lust. The thought burns her with shame but better that than mount her sister. "Oh, Maker," she says. Vincento looks at her curiously. "It's nothing," she laughs. "You were saying, about the wine?" He laughs his deep chuckle. No doubt he thinks she's some naive Fereldan girl, a sentiment she resents.

If she went to bed with him, what would it look like? How do they fit it in their pants? It must be small. Right? She looks at his hands, is that any judge? They're large. She peeks under the table too and notes his average sized feet. Oh, now she's being ridiculous. Those are no indicators. She takes a nervous drink of wine and immediately follows it with a bread roll. He's bought her a meal, is she obligated to sleep with him now?

Why couldn't it be Hawke seated across from her right now? She'd no doubt be telling some horribly inappropriate joke or regaling her with tales of her latest conquest. She always makes it sound so exciting. Why must they be related at all? She sighs.

"What is the matter with you, my girl? Are you not enjoying yourself?" Vincento laughs nervously. "Most women trip over themselves when out with me." Bethany doesn't tell him that she tripped beforehand. The restaurant is small and intimate; she could reach across the table and take his hand, maybe press it to her or brings it to where she wants her sister's hands. She feels mildly depressed.

"Do you want to go to bed with me?" she asks quickly, unsure if the blush on her cheeks is from the wine or the question. She must say the words before she rushes home foolishly. Maybe she should go to the Blooming Rose but if they can barely afford bread then she's really not going to be able to afford _that. _She feels like such a fool virgin! Her sister's only six years older than her but it feels like she has a wealth of experience. And Bethany will never be able to know it.

Vincento coughs. He places his hands on the table (rude!) and leans forward. "Is that an offer? Antivans are noted for being proficient and giving lovers… We could go somewhere and I could show you."

Bethany debates. Her ankle throbs. She has another sip of wine, seeking wisdom or courage.

* * *

><p>Hawke is morose. Stealing tonight doesn't have the same charm. Maybe because that nefarious Vincento is set upon stealing her sister's virginity and it's rather something she took for herself. <em>No, it isn't! <em>Oh, yes it is, she can't even argue it anymore. She's distressed. Night has fallen, she's fetched all of Athenril's little things. Worse yet, Athenril is all business tonight, something big is in the works and she doesn't wish to be distracted by Hawke's 'charms'. A rousing speech (and her wandering hands) had done little to wear Athenril down. Hawke bloody hates when she can't charm her way into or out of situations.

What is that foul bastard doing to her sister?

She wanders around Lowtown aimlessly like a lost ghost until she comes upon Aveline, out like a proud tin soldier, shield and sword bared, daring injustice to present itself. "What's the matter with you?" Aveline asks. "I haven't seen you so out of sorts since they ran out of your favorite ale at the Hanged Man."

"Bethany is out on a date," Hawke is so dejected she wishes she could pat herself on the back. In fact, if Aveline scooped her up in her metal tin arms she wouldn't object terribly. Maybe a few kisses would console her.

"You mean she doesn't just give it away like you do? Smart girl. Then again, she's always seemed the smarter of you two."

Bethany is so smart. Smart enough to avoid Hawke like the plague. The problem is that she'll eventually come home (she'd better) and then they'll be cooped up again together. She sighs melodramatically. "I know Wesley hasn't been gone for long," she starts delicately, already seeing Aveline's eyes narrow in warning, "But don't you want a nice girl like Bethany?"

They climb the small steps past the marketplace, Aveline looking to and fro like a predator, ready to shout 'shut up, crime!'"Bethany? She's like a sister to me, and before you start, so are you."

Hawke persists. She once talked a woman (and she was an obnoxious woman, for the record) out of her last glass of water when her skirt was on fire. To present the facts as they are is a far simpler feat. "But she _isn't _a sister."

"But she's _like _one."

Hawke wonders if the argument can work in reverse. Bethany _is _a sister but she doesn't feel towards her _like _one. Oh, brilliant. She'll propose the idea to Bethany tonight. Blast. "You're useless," Hawke tells her.

"See? We're more like family than you know." She brings a cold, leather hand atop of her head, patting her much in the same way that she does the Mabari. Why can't Aveline be her sister? It isn't like she wants to sleep with her (when she isn't desperate). "Come on. I'm sure there's something happening in Hightown that we can better divert our attention to."

"I don't _want _to stop crime. I'm not getting paid for it!" She's already been sold into servitude, she doesn't collect any bloody coin off of that and now Aveline wants her to do more for Kirkwall? Why for? "Think of my pretty face! What would I ever do if it were injured or scarred in some way?"

"Your character would receive a bounty," Aveline tells her annoyingly.

"To the void with character!" She just wants her sister.

* * *

><p>Bethany has done the mature thing and hobbled off in the night while Vincento excused himself to bathe and prepare for their 'evening of pleasure'. Though it was tempting. There was fruit and bread to eat, (more wine!) and a bed that was massive and comfortable, pillows thick and full of the softest feathers and sheets smoother than she's ever touched. All she had to do is let Vincento touch and presumably enter her.<p>

The decision to leave was made spur of the moment, but now that she's outside and it's _cold. _Vincento's gift of a white dress is beautiful but thin—she wonders if he'll be terribly angry that she ran away with it? Perhaps he was expecting to get it back at the end of the night… No matter. She moves through the Hightown night and wonders if she should return to the room where she left Vincento. It's dark and there's hardly any light at all. Worst yet, she doesn't have her staff or her sister on her. On her. Bethany considers that, thanks the heat of her cheeks for some degree of warmth and moves forward. Large flakes of snow fall lazily through the night. Landing on her hair, on her collarbone. She's cold. Before she can dwell on it further, four men step in front of them. Two of them appear to be city guards, the other two look like the sort city guards jail. Yet they all look rather amicable.

Bethany nods, smiles and tries to step around them. One of them blocks her path. She walks the other way and the same thing happens again. She smiles. She's been caught in this dance before. These men are rather younger, though they look like rogues, lacking the charm of Vincento or her older sister, despite their average looks. "Sorry," she says.

"You look like a bride," the first city guard says.

"Maybe she'll take one of us to be her groom," the second city guard says.

"I don't have any coin," Bethany says hurriedly, feeling, for the first time, some real alarm. This alarm is quite different than anything felt with Vincento earlier in the evening and now she feels quite the fool for running away from him like some stupid little girl and into some very real danger. "I'm sorry. Please, just let me be on my way."

"There must be _something _you have that we might want," the first rogue says.

"I'll take a kiss," the second rogue says, his hair is disheveled and with a light powdering of snow on it. If it weren't for his presumptuous behavior he might even be considered handsome. "You running off to see your boyfriend, girl?"

"I don't have—" She starts and then bites her tongue. They step closer. They've managed to flank her, somehow. How stupid is she? She sees her breath smoke and curl in the cold night air. Why did she run off to Hightown by herself at night? Why didn't she just tell Vincento the truth? She's angry at herself and she prefers it, better than this fear ready on her heels to catch her.

"We could be your boyfriend," the second city guard says. "Think of it as a toll!" The two guards laugh while the rogue snickers.

Bethany's anger boils over. "No," she says with finality, her voice chiller than the night and the white stars. The first guard reaches for her and she steps back. The guard is flung backward several feet. Her magic is far weaker without its staff and all the mens' eyes widen. They shout 'an apostate!'

Bethany runs. The ground is slippery and the air that she manages to pull into her lungs stabs into her. Damned heels, damned cobblestones, damned stupidity of hers. She wonders if they will catch and kill her. Or do something not as awful but almost as awful. Or, if worse of all, they'll turn her over to the Circle. Her ankle gives out from under her, the twisted, swollen thing that she hadn't bothered to heal earlier may prove to be her undoing. She slams hard into the ground and she hears them closing in. Then, she hears something more, the sweetest thing she could hope.

"Oh, look, sweet Aveline," Hawke says, with some vengeful glee, "Crime." Bethany looks up to see Hawke whip her daggers out, giving them an impressive little twirl. She's always been a bit of a showoff but Bethany could be no happier.

"And your sister," Aveline says, sober as always, "it's good that we came when we did, Hawke."

"Right, right, justice, blah, blah, blah. Enough talking, let's kill them. I'm good at that," Hawke races forward, the icy ground doing nothing to deter her. The first guard rushes to meet her. Hawke's smile is mean and he raises his broadsword, swinging broadly with a vengeance. If the swipe were to catch her it'd tear her in half but she's much too fast and before he has the opportunity to turn, she's buried a dagger in the back of his neck, ripping it back with a satisfied laugh.

Aveline is engaged with the rogues, one of which has two long daggers, near swords in his hands. He swings his arms one after another, much like a fast, deadly windmill that barrages into Aveline. She raises her poor wooden shield, blocking the hits, dodging the quick thrusts of the other rogue who's tried to go around her and failed. A step to the side and a powerful thrust forward and she's run the first rogue through to the hilt of her sword. Bethany watches in a panic as she's kicking him away, trying to get her sword free. The other rogue is practically on Aveline when Hawke literally jumps on him, grabbing him by the hair, exposing his throat and cutting before jumping away. He falls with a twirl to the floor, soaking Hawke in blood in the process. "Sorry!" Hawke says to the body, moving on.

Bethany finally gets to her feet, her ankle worse. There's only one guardsman left with a bow and arrow. Bethany sees his smile, mean and vindictive and then he's gone. She turns, slowly, unsure of where he's gone too. It's too dark, there are too many shadows, too many pillars to hide behind. She hears the whistle of an arrow and slams to the ground when it pounds into her.

There's a scream and Aveline shouts with victory. Hawke is on top of her, hovering over her the way she did so many nights ago, touching her face. "Are you okay?" Her voice is frantic; she repeats the question over and over again. "Are you okay? Did they get you? Did that bastard get you?" She's touching her face and Bethany nods in response, nods, touching the blood that's been splashed on her sister's face, tries to wipe it free. Maybe she shouldn't be nodding. Maybe she should be shaking her head. It's possible she's confusing the situation.

It's then that she sees the arrow sticking out of Hawke, wet with blood, gooey with what she can only assume is her sister's skin clinging to it. "Maker, are you all right?" Bethany asks and feel foolish for the way her eyes water. Hawke becomes alarmed, repeating her questions anew when Bethany stops her and points to the arrow jutting out of her shoulder.

Hawke looks at it. She doesn't respond right away. Then: "Oh, shit!" she falls back to a sitting on the cobblestone and touches it, tentatively. Mewls. Aveline approaches them. Hawke looks up at her desperately, "Aveline! Look!"

"What are you complaining about?" Aveline says with a dry smile. "It isn't your face." Hawke tries to fall on her back but Bethany catches her before she presses the arrow in further. Aveline kneels beside her and nearly jumps back when Hawke shouts:

"It hurts, you heartless wretch!"

"You saved Bethany's life. That archer was good. Wear that wound like a badge of honor."

"Please spare me your speeches of honor and help me!" Hawke leans forward, her head nearly falling into Bethany's lap. Finally she settles in a half hunched-over state. "Blight, void, fuck, shit, fuck it all. You were so bloody right, Aveline! I feel my character growing as the blood oozes out of me!" She sighs and rests her forehead on Bethany's knee.

"Stop being so melodramatic," Aveline tells her.

"Lie down," Bethany says gently to her, "here," she helps her, "on your side." Hawke does so, complaining the entire time, touching the arrow gingerly and wincing. Bethany looks to Aveline. "I left my staff at Uncle Gamlen's and I ah—twisted my ankle when I fell," she doesn't have to specify _when _in particular she fell. She feels Hawke's fingers clench tightly around her knee, either uncomfortable at the reminder of the incident or the arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

Aveline shakes her head. "There may be some confiscated in the barracks that I could find. Will any staff do? I'm afraid I don't know much about any of…what you do." Bethany nods. Her staff would be best but a twisted or broken ankle along with her sister's wound might be well handled by just about any staff. "Very well. I'll return shortly. Don't go anywhere," she tells them as if they were precocious children with a habit of running off.

"Oh, look, Bethy," Hawke says, "Aveline's a jester." Aveline gives them a stern look and hurries away. The sisters look after her before Hawke groans again and curls her legs to her.

"I'm so sorry about this." She feels awful guilty. If she had just listened to Hawke and not gone on the date or just stayed home, or at least brought her staff or fifty other things that could have prevented the situation. Hawke sighs. The breath is warm along her knee. The night is cold and the snow continues to fall. She combs her fingers through Hawke's hair tenderly and Hawke closes her eyes, still pouting.

"How was your date?" the question is muffled against Bethany's knee. Bethany keeps staring at the arrow that has speared her sister. "Did you let him touch you in exchange for dinner? Slattern."

"I did no such thing. You've taught me how to be a proper slattern," oh how she guiltily wishes, "So I didn't even ask for the dinner," she flicks a finger at Hawke's ear and regrets it when she turns on her side only to press the arrow further into her. Hawke chokes back a pained sound and Bethany feels her heart ache. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have gotten in the way!"

"Oh, right. Naturally I should have let him kill you. Mother would love that. Gamlen might, citing one less mouth to feed, as if he ever bloody does anything," she grouses, "but I'd rather avoid Mother scolding me for killing yet another sibling. That hurts worse than the sodding arrow." She bites down on her lip and shakes. Bethany does the same but for different reasons. "It's cold," Hawke adds in a small voice.

"Aveline will be here soon," she presses a kiss to Hawke's hair and lowers, folding over her, an arm carefully around her shoulder. Bethany wishes that she had some sort of wing to shelter her sister with. It's a silly thought and she can't much imagine what she'd do with a wing any other time but she wants one now. She covers Hawke's hand, wet with snow. "Marian…" she says. "I love you."

Hawke laughs softly. "I love you more. As evidenced by the arrow I took for you."

"I didn't ask you to do that. Don't ever do it again."

"Tough." Hawke says. Then: "I would take a hundred more." Hawke brushes a cold kiss to her knee but Bethany still feels it through the dress. She shivers.

* * *

><p>It turns out the staffs are actually kept in the brig, all the way in the Gallows but Aveline has found a broomstick, will that do? She asks with concerned and desperate urgency. It won't do. The cold, at the least, has done something to bring down the swelling and with much griping and complaining on Hawke's end, the three of them make their way down to Lowtown, the arrow sticking comically from Hawke's shoulder.<p>

Gamlen and Leandra, at the very least, are asleep and the sisters are grateful to not have any hysterics added to the situation. They retreat to the bathroom where it is discovered, in the light, that Bethany's dress is stained in blood. She hopes Vincento won't demand its return or she really will have to put out to offset the cost. Aveline sets Hawke down on the edge of the bathtub in no gentle manner. "We're going to have remove it, Hawke, there's no way around that." She reaches forward and snaps the arrowhead off without warning, causing Hawke to open her mouth, ready with another slew of profanities. Bethany covers her mouth before she starts.

Hawke is muffled, her eyes going to Bethany's face before going down to the floor. "A little warning next time, Aveline? Blast, is there nothing gentle about you?"

"Not really," Aveline is unapologetic, "and you're capable: I won't baby you." She peers at the arrow, it's in about midway. "Now which way do you want it? From the front or the back?"

"I like both ways." Hawke says cheekily before realizing. "Oh."

Aveline grabs the shaft and quickly rips it out through the back. Hawke goes pale, a hand clutching the wound that blood pours freely from. Hawke takes a feeble swing at Aveline (easily sidestepped) as she falls to the floor, biting back a torrent of screams. "I thought it'd be best to do it while she was distracted," Aveline explains to Bethany who looks horrified. Is this what all soldiers are like? "I've done my part. Now it's your turn."

"That's what she—" Hawke bites back the rest of the sentence, wincing terribly. Aveline pulls Hawke's hand away from the hole in her shoulder. "I hate you, Aveline, I bloody, oh, blight this hurts," she's pale and sweaty and Bethany kneels beside her, feeling her ankle throb still. Not that that matters right now, first this, first Marian. She holds on to the staff, retrieved by Aveline earlier and covers the wound on Hawke's shoulder with her other hand, feeling hot blood squeeze against it. "I don't know if I'm going to make it," Hawke says.

"You're being ridiculous," Aveline says, sitting on the tub now, her leg crossed delicately over the other.

"Do you really think that?" Bethany asks Hawke irritably.

"No," Hawke says quietly. She looks up to Aveline who rolls her eyes at her. Some moments later the wound is gone but she wishes that it weren't because Bethany removes her hand. Bethany smiles with relief and Hawke both hates and delights in having made her worry.

Aveline stands. "There, that was easy enough. I'm calling it an evening. I'm glad you're well, Bethany," she looks to Hawke, "you did a good thing tonight. You ought to be proud." Hawke returns Aveline's kindness with a roll of the eyes. "Goodnight. Don't make me worry about you again."

"If you don't make me go on your silly crime fighting patrols you won't have to." Hawke says with a grin. Aveline frowns and exits, shutting the door. Hawke is ready with some remark about how ungrateful Aveline is when Bethany throws her arms around her and pulls her close. Bethany doesn't say anything, just holds on to her for dear life.

Hawke laughs haltingly, finding it difficult to ignore the feeling of Bethany's body crushed to hers or the ferocity of her embrace. "I may have been a touch melodramatic tonight, Bethy. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine." Hawke slides her hands up Bethany's back and to her face, to pull her away far enough to say it again, to make her believe it. Bethany's eyes, the color of newly minted copper, are shining and filled with emotion. Hawke can't breathe. She knows that she's in danger and that she needs to pull away but it's difficult when Bethany is practically straddling her, looking at her that way, waiting for her to somehow make it all better. Hawke doesn't know how to do that. She only knows what she's ever known, what she's recently wanted.

It's then that she slips. It's easy, so easy, too easy to inch Bethany forward over that last tiny and seemingly insurmountable distance, to guide Bethany's mouth to her own. This is no child's kiss of before. This is no chaste, sisterly kiss. Hawke's kiss may be gentle but their lips part and they shudder at the same time, knowing that a line has been crossed, or maybe just exhaling at how long it has taken for it to pass. Their tongues mingle together, Bethany's shy and tentative becoming braver before Hawke pulls her to her more aggressively. Bethany nearly loses her balance, catches herself on the edge of the bathtub, she sighs softly but doesn't break the kiss. Bethany's mouth is sweet, her lips soft, her tongue warming Hawke better than any fire could on the coldest of nights. Their breasts heave and Bethany's fingers come to the back of her neck, the angle just so that Hawke has to incline her head back and part her lips further so that Bethany may kiss her more deeply. That part only lasts for a moment and then Hawke's not sure which one of them it is that pulls away.

"I'm sorry," Hawke scrambles away from her, backward and Bethany does much the same in the opposite direction. Hawke doesn't look at her. Can't look at her. If she looks at her she will rip her dress away and kiss every part of her and demand to be kissed much the same. "I don't know—" she mutters and feels badly for lying about it. She knows perfectly well why she did it. After months of resisting she finally faltered. She says: "I'm sorry." But she's only sorry of shaming Bethany, not of the sensation, not of the memory that she will carry with her.

"It's fine." Bethany stammers, cheeks rosy. "You're covered in blood. Take a bath." She exits swiftly despite the state of her ankle.

* * *

><p>Hawke has been in the bath for far too long. Bethany limps around the room before finally remembering she has an ankle to take care of. She sits on the bottom bunk and heals her foot, hoping that some of the discomfort will slip away then but it doesn't. She changes into her night clothes but is restless. Where's Hawke? Is she livid with her? Maybe it was just an accident. The two of them stumbled onto each other's lips after a…hostile and stressful evening and oh, Maker, she cannot stop thinking of the heat of Marian's mouth against hers. Truth told she isn't sure which one of them it is that pulled away but she feels ashamed, ashamed at herself for tarnishing her image in front of her sister and ashamed for bringing Marian into her own depravity.<p>

She does wish there was more to be ashamed of. She wishes they could have kissed more, that Marian could have touched her more. Guilt spikes into her. What would their mother think? She'd be disgusted and disappointed and ashamed. But… does she have to know? Of course she'd know, it can't very well happen under her nose can it? But what happened in the bathroom just did.

Stop. Stop.

Hadn't Marian kissed her? She thinks that's what happened, anyway. Bethany tries to downplay the situation. While she must take into consideration that her sister is an incorrigible flirt, she must also take care not to forget that she is an unthinking idiot from time to time. Maybe she was just… in a state not having bedded some woman in a matter of hours and she just happened to be handy… Bethany wonders if she should have spent the night with Vincento. She knows full well what licentiousness she'd entertain herself with if Hawke wasn't her sister.

She paces and sits on the bottom bunk. When the door opens and Hawke enters, Bethany springs to her feet. "Ohgoodyou'reoutIthoughtyou'ddrownedinthebathtubwelllet'sgotosleepshallwe. Separately."

Marian doesn't look at her. "What? I'm sorry, I don't speak gibberish." Bethany's embarrassed and Hawke moves closer, squeaky clean and smelling mildly of soap. Her dark hair glistens in the warm glow of the room and it takes all of Bethany's willpower to not touch it. "So, I figure this was some… bizarre near death experience, despite the lack of near death and… so, I'll say I'm sorry… and let's just both forget it happened, yes? If I started sleeping with you I'd never leave the house." Why does she have to say those things? Hawke winces, having known that she's just spoken poorly. "I never meant to make you feel…dirty."

"You…" didn't.

"Forgive me? Please say you will. You don't have to but… I'd feel awful forever if you didn't. And I'd really hate to feel awful on top of living in this home with Uncle Gamlen and our petty life of crime…" She shifts and finally looks at her. Bethany bites her lower lip. Hawke takes it as a sign that she's in the dog house. She lowers her head. "Look, I guess it's just harder than I thought to not have sex every minute of the day, so…" Bethany touches Hawke's neck. Hawke goes rigid. Then pulls Bethany's hand away, dropping it like a dirty rag. "Maybe you ought to give that Vincento fellow another try. You fixed me up quite proper like. For a while I thought I'd have trouble pleasuring my playthings but I'm better than new."

"Oh."

Hawke crawls into the bottom bunk and folds her arms behind her head. "Things will be easier once this year of servitude is over. We spend too much time together. It confuses things. So from now on I'll take care of it. It's easier for Athenril and me when you aren't around." Bethany sits on the corner of the bed but Hawke turns on her side to face the wall. "Goodnight, Sister."

"Goodnight, Marian." She reaches out to grab her shoulder, to rouse her and kiss her but she doesn't. How could she be so unfair to Marian? What's wrong with her? She climbs up to the second bunk and takes deep breaths, covering her face with her hands for several minutes. The worst that could happen between them has happened and Hawke has taken responsibility and made it clear that it will never happen again.

They've always been so close and now Marian doesn't want her around. Bethany is shattered. But she tells herself she isn't. It's fine. She never liked doing those jobs. As for the rest of it… It's just that wild, youthful experimentation that all girls partake in with their elder sisters out of the way… Blast. Who is she kidding? Maybe she should go to the chantry and become a lay sister. The normal kind. That doesn't want to lie with her sister. That doesn't want to retreat to the bunk below and slip beneath the sheets with her sister.

She wonders if she was a terrible kisser. Maybe Hawke would find more fault with that than the other thing. She turns on her side and faces the wall. She wills the thoughts to go away but they won't leave her. For the time being she has her imagination and. Maybe eventually she'll find someone else who looks just like Marian and behaves just like Marian but somehow isn't Marian.

Right.

Blight it all. She can't forget those moments of not even an hour ago where she felt chained and free and her sister treated her just like any other woman. Marian's hair is darker, she's paler and her eyes are blue. Bethany's eyes are brown and her skin tone is light bronze color. She wonders what the likelihood is that either one of them was adopted.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I am stunned at how popular this story has turned out to be. Thanks everyone! As some of you know this has been written for ages. I re-read the next chapter and am unconvinced so it might take some editing from the initial chapter. Then again, laziness might win. I hope you continue to enjoy the shenanigans.

* * *

><p>As much as Hawke tries to ditch Bethany she's like a persistent puppy that refuses to get lost. Anytime Athenril has an assignment Bethany manages to find out about it, more painful still is when Athenril dryly reminds Hawke that they're a packaged deal. 'No mage, no contract and you owe me a lot of coin and before you ask, no, you can't pay it back in favors.' Bloody Bethany. Bloody Athenril. Doesn't Bethany understand that Hawke is only trying to do her a favor and save her from her own perversions. Their own perversions.<p>

Anytime she's near (or not anywhere in the vicinity) all Hawke can think of is the night they kissed. Something happened before that, possibly an arrow stabbing through her but that wasn't the point and it isn't what she remembers. Hawke had expected the passing time would wane her desire but no, she'd still take Bethany: on a butcher's table, in Darktown, at the Blooming Rose, on the bloody kitchen table of their home. Bethany looks so stupidly hurt by it all but Hawke won't come closer, can't stand closer or she'll assault her.

Why can't they take baths together like when they were children? Blast!

Her new trick has been to lead Bethany to Athenril's for 'orders' and then kissing the elven off of the woman. Bethany initially stood around uncomfortably but after Hawke added a few 'I feel as if I haven't seen you in ages' and 'What does it take to be alone with you?' Bethany had given up.

Maybe she's hurt Bethany. But she hurts her because she loves her. And wants to love her. In every way, every minute of every day. And night. Who can fault that thinking?

* * *

><p>Hawke is still on the bottom bunk and Bethany has managed to not slam her head into the ceiling once. Hawke once told her it was something to be proud of and Bethany had countered that you'd have to be mentally challenged to be incapable. Hawke guessed she was still angry about the cold shoulder. Is this what it means to suffer for one's love? "Did you patch things up with Vincento?" Hawke asks her one night.<p>

"It isn't patching that we did." When Hawke makes an audible shocked noise Bethany goes on: "That's none of your business."

"I tell you about Athenril."

"I don't want to hear about bloody Athenril. I see enough of you two as it is. I'd appreciate it if you stop telling me how flexible she is. I don't need to know how far back she can bend her legs. Can't all elves do that?"

She's never considered it. Can they?Hawke stares at the bed above her and hears Bethany shift. It's not like she wants to hear about Vincento. She just wants to know if she ought to worry about him and her. Or where he's been putting his appendages. Or if there's anything she ought to be cutting off. "I just don't want you running off to Hightown again and having a repeat of… well everything." Bethany is quiet. "Are you asleep? So quickly?" She calls out her name several times over, saying it louder and then softer and then a whisper and then singing it. She can't imagine that Bethany would sleep through it. She must be ignoring her. Hawke is saddened and momentarily contemplates the idea of Bethany inviting her up to her bunk, kissing her, touching her, telling her that she loves only her. It's perverted and painful to think but it is an arousing little thought none-the-less. "Beeeeeeeeethaaaaaaaaaannnnyy yyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

Bethany says: "Won't you be quiet? I'm trying to sleep."

Hawke wishes that she didn't love her or wasn't related to her or didn't have to sleep all of five feet from her. Or that she could sleep on top of her. That last one is her favorite. She turns on her side and hugs the pillow. She isn't with Athenril unless she wants to throw Bethany off her trail. But she wishes all the throwing Bethany off her trail wasn't throwing her off her trail.

Where did Bethany learn to kiss like that? Should she ask? She sits up and then lies back down. No. Probably not. "Bethy."

Bethany's voice is unexpectedly sharp. "What?"

"I miss you." It sounds stupid— they see each other every day for hours. But they don't talk. Hawke knows that she's the one who screwed it all up. She doesn't know how to fix it. Maybe she can't. Maybe she can kiss her and make it all better. No. That's what got her into the mess.

"I'm right here."

The response comes after much too long. Bethany's voice is soft and it melts Hawke in every way that she doesn't want to be melted. Of all things, of all people to be undone by. Hawke wonders if she should climb up to her bunk, just to look at her, just to say something, anything. No. Probably not. "Just making sure you haven't run away," Hawke says.

* * *

><p>"Well, what's the matter with you, girl?" Gamlen asks. He's begun a game of Solitaire on the table where Bethany sat trying to eat a stale piece of bread. Now her jaw aches and she's still hungry. The bread has won this battle. "You continue to mope like that you'll age young just like your mother."<p>

"You look twice as old as she does," Bethany says. It isn't really true though Gamlen does look older. She can't stand it when he says horrible things about her mother.

"I see you've picked up your sister's smart mouth. Girls with mouths like that go nowhere, fast. Except a seedy alley for another quick tumble." Gamlen picks up his bottle of wine and has a drink, offering her some. It's not even afternoon but Bethany takes the bottle, wipes it reluctantly and has a drink. It would have been better if she'd never known what it was to kiss her. "I suggest you get yourself a boyfriend or a girlfriend. You spend too much time with your sister."

"What does that mean?"

He looks up from his cards and for once, his brown eyes, much like her own, are surprisingly clear and far too serious. Bethany feels a flush start at her neck and inch its way up. "It means I'm not stupid like your mother or that sister of yours." He lets out a cackle. "At least one of them was smart enough to take after me! And the pretty one at that! Ha! If only your mother knew that the one noble thing about the lot of you is your want to do some inbreeding."

"That's awful," she has a gulp of wine pretends that he doesn't understand, that she doesn't understand, but she fears they both understand all too well about her sick desires. She begins to contemplate, once again, joining the chantry and glances at his game to spot him cheating. "What's the point of cheating when playing solitaire?"

"Grow up, girl. We can't always play by the rules. Sometimes we have to cheat to get ahead."

Bethany wonders if he has a point. She never thought Gamlen would ever teach her anything but here he's taught her about cheating. It's his first attempt at mentoring. It warms her heart.

* * *

><p>"Uncle has been looking at me strangely," Hawke announces upon entering the bedroom. She narrows her eyebrows on Bethany who is sitting on the bottom bunk. It may be childish but that's <em>her <em>bunk and no, she hasn't written her name on it but she may well do it if Bethany doesn't move. They made a deal.

"Don't worry," Bethany says, "he thinks I'm prettier."

"Is that a joke?"

"No, I actually _am _prettier."

Bethany is reading over what looks to be like a large tome of magic, one of the few things salvaged when they fled from Lothering. Hawke tries to find a polite way to tell her to get off the sodding bed and that it's actually _she _who is prettier. "What a smart mouth you have, Sister."

"Do you like it?"

Hawke stops and looks at her, looks at her mouth. All Bethany does is skirt her eyes over to Hawke's. Bethany's question is best not answered. Hawke turns her back to her, unable to think of any other way to not take her then and there. She throws her daggers on the floor while she thinks of pressing her down to the bed and kissing her mouth. "I'm taking my bed back. I don't like climbing up."

"Go sleep at Athenril's."

Hawke frowns. "I live here, too. Sorry if you don't like it but I do. I'm allowed to be here. No matter what Uncle says."

"Then why do you act like you hate it so much?" Bethany asks. Hawke keeps her back to her and undoes the belts of her arm guards. She loves and hates being around Bethany. A nagging, annoying part of the whole situation is that she can't even confide in her best friend anymore. Why does Bethany have to be everything? Family, confidante, best friend, partner, comrade, sister? "Why won't you even look at me?"

Hawke doesn't look at her. Bethany rises from the bed and walks past her, exiting. Hawke follows. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Not at this time of night, not by yourself!" She has to stop herself from standing in front of the door with her arms outstretched. Or tackling her outright.

Bethany looks at her indignantly. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I am the head of this household;" a truth she can't escape no matter how hard she may try, but oh so handy just now. "I can tell you exactly what to do. Are you going over to Vincento's to play kissy kissy with him? Big boys don't just stop at kisses, Bethy. And he's Antivan! So, yes! You know!" She doesn't.

Bethany doesn't miss a beat! "Oh, yes! I know!"

"What do you know?"

Stops—blushes. "None of your business!"

Hawke nearly faints. Has the fiend deflowered her!? That's her job! _No, it isn't!_ Damn the blood between them! She wonders if she can find some adorable little blood mage to fix it so that their blood isn't an issue but gathers that that isn't how it works. "You can't go out. There is crime in Kirkwall. And crime is dangerous! Get back to the room!" She's pointing at it when Leandra comes out of the room she shares with Gamlen, looking tired and worried. Hawke doesn't care how childish she looks, she addresses it immediately. "Bethany is thinking of running off into the night. To whore!"

"Sister!"

"What are you going on about?" Leandra asks concerned. She looks at Bethany whose face is flushed, her bountiful chest lifting and falling attractively. Hawke wants to rest her head on her breasts while Bethany strokes her hair. They could plan dinners. _You're going to wherever abominations are sent to die, Marian. _That would be fine. "What's the matter, dear?" Bethany looks ashamed and small. Hawke is triumphant_! Fine, don't listen to me, I'll run and tell our Mommy!_ (the real authority). Brilliant. "Is Marian bothering you again?"

"Hey!" Hawke says. Yes.

Bethany says something that Hawke doesn't hear but Leandra goes to her, smoothes her hair back and kisses her cheek. Hawke looks at her jealously. "Go back to sleep, love. I know your sister is incredibly tiresome but we all want you safe and sound. You can see your boyfriend later."

_No, you can't!_ Bah. So much for her mother's good work. Hawke thinks to argue that a shared room for the two of them isn't exactly the safest place but why stab herself in the foot with that argument? Either way, Bethany has returned to the room and Hawke after her, shutting the door. Even if she wanted to see Athenril tonight she can't risk Bethany's teenaged rebellion. "I am not incredibly tiresome," Hawke tells her after the door has closed. Bethany glowers at her. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"Why do you get to do whatever you like and I'm here, stuck?"

"How are you stuck? Asides from being forbidden to leave the house and all, I mean." Hawke says with a sheepish grin. _Thanks, Mother! _Bethany's expression, downcast and sour moves Hawke to her. She takes hold of Bethany's shoulders and tells herself to let her go. That would be dramatic. She can hold on to her bloody shoulders. Their warmth melts her into a puddle of goo. "Look, Bethany. I'm older than you, so…" _lie down on the bed and take your clothes off. Trust me, I'm a professional._ Sigh. "I've got quite a bit of experience." Bethany looks at her anxiously. "And I—um…," _would love to use it all on you… _"would just be so…," excited, ecstatic, thrilled beyond compare, "bored if I took you to bed." She laughs so unnaturally it's almost creepy. She rebounds by slapping Bethany's cheek playfully. Oh, she wants to touch it forever!

Hawke can't figure if Bethany looks mortified or angry. Maybe saddened. "I know it's natural for sisters to idolize their older siblings… and you've been especially gifted with me so… whatever little crush you may have you'll just have to get over it. I've got all of Kirkwall to choose from! And our year of servitude ends tomorrow so I'll be especially free to… you know…" _Not want to do my sister._ "Do better." But there isn't better, is there? Hawke punches Bethany's arm affectionately. "As…will you." She adds awkwardly. Oh right. The point is _not _to make her sister feel like garbage. Funny thing, that.

"If you don't want me thinking about you why did you kiss me?"

"Have you seen yourself?" Hawke demands. Has she? Maker's breath! "And I really wanted to." She admits. Bethany's face softens too much, becomes too hopeful. "For fuck's sake, Bethy, don't bloody question me. Do as I say. Go brush your teeth and don't talk to strangers and don't entice your harlot of an older sister. I'm so enticeable." She lets her go and scrambles on to the bottom bunk while she has the opportunity. Ha! The bunk is hers! Bethany looks at her, cross and hurt and Hawke tells herself that if she's stupid enough to come near her she'll get exactly what she deserves in Hawke undressing her and ravaging her on the spot. "Find yourself a nice girl, Bethy. I don't want you. Don't pay attention to everything I do or say that says otherwise." She sighs with frustration. "And don't believe what they say—there _are _nice girls in Kirkwall. Nice boys. Find one you're interested in and then… you know." _Never touch them out of consideration to me._

"Whatever you say, Sister."

Hawke hates how pathetically hurt and angry Bethany can sound at times. Why is she making her feel so bloody guilty for doing the right thing? It isn't as if she wants to do the right thing. Unless the right thing is Bethany in which case… Bah. Bethany won't stay single forever. That's impossible. Once she meets a proper lad or lass Hawke will let it go and they can all live happily ever after free of incest and sexual-tension. She can do this. Yes! Yes, she can! Even if she doesn't want to. Sigh.

She's drifting off to sleep miserably when Aveline comes in with good news, she's been accepted into the guard! As such, she'll be spending her last night in Uncle Gamlen's home before she moves into the barracks.

Damn it, Aveline!

Bethany is waiting with the sheets pulled to her when Hawke grudgingly climbs up beside her. Their thighs touch and neither one of them lies down, too afraid of what might happen.

Aveline is unnaturally gleeful. "I'm so excited, ladies. I don't know that I'll be able to sleep a wink tonight. It just goes to show that hard work and diligence are all you need to meet your goals."

Hawke wonders if Aveline ever tires of hearing herself. She pulls some of the sheet from Bethany, their fingers brushing. Hawke feels the breath being squeezed out of her by her sweet sister's gaze. "You really need to get a boyfriend." Hawke whispers to her. Bethany nods. "Or a girlfriend." Bethany nods again. "Do you want Athenril?" Hawke asks. Athenril has told her, the demon, how she wouldn't mind having a go at Bethany. Bethany shakes her head. Thank the Maker. "Who do you want?" Blight. Why did she ask? "I'll find someone for you. Someone perfect. Someone good enough for you." Hawke whispers. "Of course, they won't be as extraordinarily good-looking as…"

Bethany silences her with a kiss. Hawke inhales deeply, resting her weight on her elbows as her precocious younger sister straddles her. What a scamp! The glorious virgin, taking initiative! This is wrong (this is so right!). Hawke kisses her with a vengeance. This is terrible (this is glorious!). This can't be happening (yes!), this can't be happening, (oh she's so glad that it's happening!), Hawke wants nothing more than Bethany's honeyed mouth against hers, nothing more than her sweet weight against her own. Damn it, Aveline! (Thank you, Aveline!) Hawke tries to situate herself, this is scandalous, even for her (and she loves it!) her bare knee brushes against Bethany's center. Bethany utters a delightful little gasp of pleasure. Hawke longs to hear her every small sound. She touches her face to pull her closer.

Aveline is like a Mabari war-hound on alert. "Is everything all right up there?" She calls out.

Bethany hangs her head low and Hawke thanks Aveline (Curse you, Aveline!) and tilts her head back. Bloody fuck all. This is best. They can't keep doing this. This can't keep happening. No matter how she wants it to keep happening. What was she thinking! Making out with her sister while Aveline was in the bunk below? _That it was exciting? _Yeeeeees. Why can't it keep happening? She doesn't look at Bethany. "We have to share," Hawke says clambering down, "she's got – she's got some injury and—I really don't want to hurt her. That would be a mistake so, I'm sleeping down here," she pushes the thin but hard bodied redhead over. "Deal with it, city guard. You'll be sleeping with a whole room of men in no time, you should at least get a taste of me first."

Aveline sighs but moves over. Hawke is sexually frustrated. "Say, Aveline, I rather like those arms of yours." Aveline turns her head to look at her with obvious annoyance. "You shouldn't waste them on sword polishing. You…do know what I mean by sword polishing, hm? You were married and all… Maybe it's been a while. I have some ways that you might work them out." Aveline backhands her across the mouth for the remark. Hawke wonders if she's imagined Bethany laughing.

"There. They've worked out." Aveline says turning back on her side, her back to her.

"Just testing you," Hawke says, sucking on her bleeding lip, "for when you officially move in. I hear that the barracks are like… like a whore house." Bah! Damn you, Aveline!

It's fine. Fine. She'll never make out with her sister again. She can behave. She can be good. "I can be good, can't I?" Hawke whispers the question to Aveline, seeking wisdom and encouragement from the old mother hen.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

* * *

><p>They're making out again. The end of their one year of servitude came and went with neither sister paying much attention despite how their mother keeps wanting to celebrate. Bethany would rather focus on this, late night into early morning, Marian kissing hotly along her neck, her hands feathering over her body. Thank the Maker Aveline is gone! The thought makes Bethany guilty when really she ought to be guilty about being with her sister like this. But it feels much too nice to linger on guilt. They kill people. Is this really any worse?<p>

Bethany runs her fingers through Hawke's hair, pulls her mouth to her fiercely again. Hawke's muffled moans make Bethany want to die of happiness. There's nothing wrong with a bit of kissing. That's what Marian had said exactly when Bethany had climbed down to her bed one night and kissed her until Marian had given in. 'There's nothing wrong with a bit of kissing'. No, there isn't. Besides the whole incest thing.

They do it sitting up. The kissing. Marian is convinced that this will keep them from going 'all the way'. As if Bethany would know how to get there. Though she has some ideas. Ideas that she's aching to explore. Marian works her up so Bethany feels she'll explode. They never pull their clothes away no matter how Bethany asks. Whenever she tries, Marian brushes her hands away. 'You have to let me pretend to be a good sister,' Marian had said.

"What are you doing today?" Marian asks, breathing the question as she sucks on her earlobe.

Bethany's mind is fuzzy. Marian's tongue makes her lose all sense and thought. What is she doing today? "Can't we do this?"

Hawke laughs softly. "I've got to run a few errands. People keep losing their things and it's up to me to return it to them," she cradles Bethany's face gently in her hands, resuming her sweet kisses. Bethany sighs softly, "I'll have a few drinks with Varric later," she kisses her, tugging on Bethany's lower lip with her teeth. Bethany exhales sharply before pulling Marian to her again, happy just to have her pressed close.

The door flings open. Bethany is paralyzed. Luckily Hawke thinks to throw her off the bed, hard! Bethany gives a small yelp as she hits the floor. The Mabari looks at them, wags his tiny tail and licks Bethany's face. She shoves him away and he jumps onto the bed beside Hawke. "Get away!" Hawke says as he tries to sit on her lap, "you're heavier than me!" Cilantro resists! He continues to do his small circles, trying to find a perfect spot. Hawke finally manages to get him away and shoo him from the room. "Damned dog." Bethany remains lying awkwardly on the floor. Hawke smiles apologetically. "Sorry. I just didn't know how we'd explain that to Mother. 'Sorry, my tongue just got stuck in her mouth, damndest thing'. At least it wasn't…" she sighs and pulls Bethany to her feet.

Bethany wraps her arms around her. She shouldn't feel so romantic towards her sister. Hawke presses another flurry of kisses to her neck and collarbone and Bethany knows, for once, that the reason her heart beats so violently is because they were near caught. Bethany can't imagine what might happen then. However terrible she apparently would rather chance it than give this up. "So," Hawke continues, "drinks with Varric tonight? I promise not to take advantage of you. Too much."

Bethany pulls her fingers through Hawke's hair, her eyes half-closed, liking the idea of Marian taking advantage. Then she remembers. "Oh, I can't. I'm seeing 'Bela tonight."

"What?" Hawke pulls away.

"Isabela and I. We're going to drink and… I don't know," she shrugs delicately. She doesn't know. She knows that Isabela is fun, that she's a shameless flirt and… "I'm just a silly virgin to her. She'll just tell me all about what I'm missing out on."

Hawke laughs haltingly. "If I know Isabela, she'll go out of her way to show you."

"I'd rather you show me," Bethany says touching Hawke's face. Her sister turns away, eyes downcast. Bethany kisses her cheek. "You told me to find someone else. You still have Athenril." Because they can't be together. That's what Hawke keeps saying, anyway.

"How else am I going to work off my pent up sexual energy?" Hawke says with a grin. She must see something in Bethany's face because she goes on. "Don't worry, she isn't serious about me. We have fun together, that's all."

"Oh." She doesn't know if that makes her feel any better. "You could work off that energy on me." Bethany doesn't see why she's so stubborn. Why is it so important to her who she sleeps with? Marian has had who knows how many lovers, so has Isabela. Obviously it isn't so important. If she sleeps with Isabela, will Marian at last sleep with her? The thought makes her feel dirty, obvious reasons not withstanding. And excited. Should she ask? Oh, it's just drinks. "Maybe you could bring Athenril," Bethany suggests and then, with a grin: "Or Aveline."

"I'd rather avoid another fat lip, thank you very much."

"You won't try to kill 'Bela, will you? I know how you get about me. And I do like her."

"I promise to stab her only a little." Hawke shakes her head and smiles without meeting her eyes. She kisses her briefly. "Go. Have fun."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hey everyone! This story has been wildly popular. I'm stunned! But glad you're all enjoying it. This is the last chapter. I was going to rewrite portions of it (thus the delay) but laziness won out so you will have it in its original form. Thanks for all the awesome reviews and follows- if I have created more Marithany fans, I am all too happy for it!

* * *

><p>Hawke wonders what the chances are that Isabela, instead of being charmed and tempted by Bethany's sweet face and crushing naivety, will instead be appalled and have no interest whatsoever in bedding such an inexperienced girl. Hawke thinks of the nights she spends with Bethany, satisfied to kiss for hours on end, tormented that she can't (shouldn't!) do more. What are the chances that Isabela won't be interested? Not bloody likely. She sighs with great vexation.<p>

Athenril straightens and rests her hands on both sides of Hawke's face, peering down at her. Hawke blinks. Oh. Right. Athenril was doing… that wonderful thing.

"I'm sorry," Athenril says not sounding at all sorry, "are you bored?"

"However can anyone be bored by _that_?" Maker, how can anyone? What is she thinking? She knows perfectly well what she's thinking. She's thinking of Isabela doing to Bethany what Athenril had just been doing to her. Damned pirate wench. Isabela doing those things to Bethany makes Hawke want to give her several hooks for hands and pegs for legs and some not-so-fetching eye patch. And whatever they attach to replace tongues. Witch!

Athenril is looking at her the way she looks at the workers who try to cheat her. Hawke has seen her stab the people who try to cheat her. She smiles reassuringly but Athenril narrows her eyes. Shit. "What are you thinking about?"

"Coin?" Hawke asks helpfully. She can't very well say she's thinking of diddling her sister. Or other people diddling her sister. The problem with wanting to date and sleep with your sister is that it's so very hard to explain. She leans up and kisses Athenril who isn't having it. "I've some things going on," she explains, waving it away.

"Okay." Athenril cocks her head, looks at her curiously. "I don't actually care—but whatever it is, don't bring it here. This is supposed to be fun, Hawke and no matter what the other cartels or you think, I do have a heart."

Hawke grins. "I don't care about your heart," she sits up and kisses along Athenril's ear. "But I do rather fancy the rest of you. Here," she flips their positions so that Athenril is on her back. "Let me give you my apologies." Yes. Better this. Emotionally void, physically exciting and never going anywhere. She needs to forget about Bethany! She can! She can do that in sex. That's the best way to do anything. Oh, why can't she do this with Bethany? Hawke imagines her beneath and kisses Athenril gently. Athenril grips her chin hard. She digs her little nails in! Hawke winces and tries to kiss her again but Athenril squeezes harder. "Ow. Do you know you're doing that?"

"Get out."

"Can we finish first?"

"We are finished. As of now."

"Can I still come around—?" For sex? Like before…

Athenril throws her clothes are her. Hawke barely catches them. She watches Athenril's fine ass walk away from her and start to get dressed. Blast! So Athenril, predictably, means business. What is she going to do now? Should she explain? Hawke pouts as she dresses. Maybe she should explain. Maybe Athenril would give her a free pass! Maybe she'd want to make love to Bethany with her, yes! Like a threesome! It'd be sexy and fun until Athenril thought to lay a finger on Bethany at which point Hawke would stab the elf into little pieces. "Fine!" Hawke says, "but you're going to miss this," she gestures wildly at herself.

"I'll survive," Athenril says dryly.

* * *

><p>Hawke is despondent only minutes before remembering that she's to meet Varric for drinks. Beer! The other cure all for the weary soul. Though she still prefers sex. She saunters into the Hanged Man full of mediocre cheer. Bethany is doing a body shot off Isabela's stomach. Hawke pales. What is Bethany doing! In public! Acting as if she were—Isabela or – or her! She's whipped one dagger out when Varric presents her with a beer.<p>

"Slow down there, Hawke," Varric says. "Can you really blame Sunshine for falling prey to Rivaini's charms? If it makes you feel any better I think they had three beers before that—which you would have known if you'd gotten here on time."

"Sorry," she isn't. She is! Blast! If she had gotten here earlier she could have interrupted the date she'd told Bethany to go on. Bethany lifts her head, her cheeks flushed attractively, letting the tip of her tongue slide delicately along her lower lip. Hawke wants to hold her and kick Isabela away. Their eyes meet. Bethany's face grows redder still. Hawke scowls and gulps down half of the beer. "Isabela's a bad influence."

"Any worse than you?" Varric asks with an arched eyebrow. Hawke scowls at him this time and finishes the beer. "Either way, doesn't strike me that the two of you are all that different from one another. Don't tell me you were after Rivaini?"

"A tart like that? You don't know me very well, Varric."

"You like them sweet and innocent, do you? Taking advantage of young, impressionable women… Shame on you!"

She can't say that young and impressionable are her type—though they are certainly a grand diversion. All those little sounds they make when discovering what pleasure the body is capable of is absolutely delectable. That said, Bethany is her type. The Maker is a bastard.

Hawke grins halfheartedly. "Another beer, my good man," she tells him and follows him to the bar. She's so close to Bethany that she can imagine what it is that she's saying. Isabela is whispering something in her ear, a hand possessively, yet casually on her shoulder. Damn her! She knows all the tricks too well! To the void with this! Hawke decides she'll need a good three pitchers to right this wrong that's right. Blight. She's never felt so twisted up about things with anyone else. What's happening? "What do you suppose she's telling her?" Hawke asks Varric.

Varric looks over to Bethany whose face is ducked down, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Hawke despairs. "I don't know that we should discuss what Rivaini may or may not be saying to your sister."

"Let's kill her." Hawke says. Varric looks at her with alarm. "Oh, relax. I meant Isabela." Varric's face remains unchanged and then he grins. He claps her on the back. "You think I'm joking." He speaks with Corff about getting a pitcher of beer. Hawke sneaks over to Isabela and Bethany. Isabela looks at her as if she were some pesky older sister interrupting a date. Bethany smiles and flushes; she takes one step away from Isabela. "What's going on?" Hawke asks. _Keep away from my sister. _

Isabela smiles but her brow furrows as if to say 'I don't know how to tell you to get lost without risking Bethany's anger'. "We're out for drinks, Hawke. Much like you are. With Varric. Oh look at him. All the way over there." She points.

Hawke nods absentmindedly at her and looks at Bethany. "Is Isabela behaving? You know, Bethy, you can march right on home if you're bored. That romantic, adventurous, underdressed rogue pirate cliché is so passé…"

Isabela smirks and steps closer. "So what will I have to take out and measure to get you to go away?" She looks at Bethany. "Let's forget your sister, Sweetness. Come with me," she takes her wrist, "there's a…book I've been meaning to show you. I think you'll find it highly educational."

Isabela pulls Bethany away! Hawke watches her get smaller.

"You read too much, Bethy! Think of your eyes! Don't read in low lit rooms! You can read at Uncle Gamlen's!" Hawke calls after her. Isabela leads her up the stairs. Bethany glances back at her. "Don't do anything I would do!" She cringes. They disappear around the corner. Varric waves her over. She crashes on the bench opposite of him. "They're going to 'read'!"

"You don't say? Alert the city guard!" Varric laughs and has a drink of beer. His expression sours. "Speaking of…"

"What are you making that face for?" Aveline asks, her impatience showing. She grabs hold of Hawke's arm and yanks her to her feet. "Come on, Hawke. Kirkwall needs you."

"To the void with Kirkwall! I don't care about the dangerous streets. Bethany may be in the process of being deflowered!" That's more bloody important than anything is. She looks at Varric who has an eyebrow sharply arched, "That's what I meant by the reading!"

Aveline makes a face. "Thank you for that," she pulls her away from the bench, away from Bethany, away from the tavern, away from her beer! Hawke reaches for it feebly. "You're very obnoxious, Hawke. Can't you pretend to care about the common good?"

"Why can't you ever leave me alone?" She looks back regretfully to the tavern. Blast! "I think Isabela has been stealing from the chantry," she tells Aveline, making sure to sound appropriately suspicious.

Aveline smiles dryly. "I don't think it's the chantry she'll be stealing from tonight. Though a sister will be involved." She's so pleased with herself.

The blood drains from Hawke. Why is she here, saving Kirkwall when she could be saving her sister for herself? Curse you, Aveline!

* * *

><p>Isabela had shackled one of her wrists when Bethany loosed a fit of nervous laughter and hurriedly exited the room with a shout of 'I have school in the morning!'. Not her best excuse and Isabela, all too quick, had countered that she could educate her from night until dawn. It had been mildly tempting. Bethany had blushed further and scurried off into the night.<p>

Now she's home but Hawke is nowhere to be seen. She wonders where she's gone to. Athenril? Bethany pouts thinking of the elven woman. It's not her fault she's not so…acrobatic. Or maybe she is but how would she know if Marian won't take the time to put her through the motions? Maybe she should bribe Athenril to keep away from Marian. Or challenge her to a duel! Could that spry little body of hers dodge a rain of fire? Being an apostate would have its advantage…

These horrible thoughts. Why can't she be normal? She misses the days when being an apostate was the worst thing about her. Maybe she shouldn't have run away from Isabela like some scared little girl but if she's going to do those things, wouldn't it be best to do them with the one she wants to do them with? Even if they happen to be an obnoxious, self-centered, cocky, stunningly beautiful older sister? Isn't love overlooking faults…or family relations? Her values have her conflicted.

Bethany slumps into the bottom bunk and pulls the pillow close as if it were a lover. Not that she's ever had one of those, an 'all the way' lover. She breathes in. It even smells like Marian! It's the only redeeming quality of the too thin, abusive pillow. She drifts off to sleep thinking of her.

* * *

><p>Hawke enters the bedroom wiping at her bleeding lip and nose. It turns out that it isn't only Aveline who can beat her into oblivion. Bloody bandits. She forgets all of it. Bethany is home and in Hawke's bunk, asleep. Hawke's crappy mood lifts; she looks more closely. Her clothing looks to be properly donned! Maybe that slattern didn't take advantage of her after all! Or maybe Bethany, unlike her, can get properly dressed in a hurry.<p>

Hawke sits next to her and strokes her hair. Maybe they can both run away and join some traveling caravan where they can perform tricks for a living and live as freaks with all the other traveling freaks who are likely not as strange but surely less attractive. That might be nice. They could slip away in the middle of the night and Hawke can leave a note saying that Bethany has been kidnapped by some scoundrel but not to worry—she'll get her back! She doesn't have to mention that she's the scoundrel or there was no kidnapping. Sigh.

Hawke leans forward and kisses Bethany's forehead. She hates the thought of having to share her with anyone.

* * *

><p>"Merrill has a crush on you," Bethany informs her. She smiles with amusement but her voice carries a hint of worry. "What is it with you and elves? Merrill doesn't look very spry, though. Sometimes I'm amazed she can walk on her own two feet." Bethany smiles again when Hawke makes her hand into a claw and scratches near her.<p>

"Can you blame her? I am rather charming and capable. I don't need to mention my good looks. Who can resist me?" Hawke looks at Bethany who trudges slowly behind the others at Mount Sundermount. Hawke hangs behind and stays close. She lowers her voice. "Even my own sister has a crush."

"It isn't a crush."

"What is it, then?" Hawke asks with devilish glee. That sweet little crease in Bethany's forehead appears again. It's adorable when she thinks. Hawke thinks to smother her in kisses.

"I don't know what it is," she says quietly. She looks away from her as she answers the question. "Something better. Something worse." Hawke bites her tongue. "The date with Isabela was awful. Don't get me wrong. She's so much fun and she's very…attractive and a good kisser," Hawke gapes several times over. What! Bethany says it as if it the words weren't meant to maim and kill, "but I couldn't stop thinking of you."

Ha! "Who can?" She laughs nervously. Is it true then? Well, that's payback for her fun time with Athenril being ruined. Sigh. But all she wants is to ruin Bethany despite how she tries to pretend otherwise. How did they get themselves into this stupid situation? Maybe it's their curse to be so damned beautiful.

"I wish you'd take something seriously every once in a while."

"How would all of Thedas fall for me if I weren't flashing my dashing smile and my rapier wit? No one wants a brooding hero." She smiles and Bethany, clearly irritated can't help but smile in response. "I don't know how to take this seriously," she confesses. If she does the shame and reprehensibility might drive her to madness. "Let's joke about it and do what we like."

"That's what you do."

"And it's so fun to do it. Follow my lead and all of that. I'll never steer you wrong. Unless I get us lost again. I don't know how elves do it. All of these trees and rocks look exactly the same to me." She looks around the mountainous area. Who knew that land could be so green and fresh and not muddy? That the air could smell so clean? She stops abruptly, narrowing her eyes. Where are Varric, Merrill and Isabela? Weren't they just ahead of them? Ah well, they know their way back. If Bethany were any other person this would be the perfect opportunity to take advantage of her. But since when has she treated Bethany as if she _weren't _any other person? It starts to drizzle rain. Ah, the Maker. Always looking to rain on her parade.

"You'd pay more attention if the landscape were an attractive woman."

"I…can't argue that. Did I mention we're lost?" Hawke allows a small grin when Bethany smiles, tired of her, grateful for her. It's the first time she's willingly flirted with her—but after all that kissing what's a little flirting? "I just can't pay attention when I'm not the most beautiful woman around. So much seething jealousy and lust." And she happens to be her damned sister. "For the record, I'm glad your date with Isabela went terribly. I might have had to kill her if it'd gone well."

"You're horrible."

"Horrible?" But however horrible Bethany may think she is, she looks happy at what Hawke has said. If she's going to court Bethany (has she?) she may as well treat her like something more than a make-out friend (sister!). Hawke wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. "I know."

Bethany looks around, her hand delicately on Hawke's shoulder. "I suppose we both are."

"No. Just me." She should know better. She's older. Technically responsible—when it isn't interfering with her good time. Has she led Bethany astray? Maybe Bethany wanted to be led astray! Being led astray is _fun. _Hawke cups Bethany's face. Drops of rain are sliding slowly downward along her cheek, her lips, catching on her eyelashes. Hawke wipes them tenderly with her thumb. Bethany draws a shaky breath and with it, wakes Hawke's every illicit desire, every fond and sisterly feeling. How is she supposed to resist this? Who can resist Bethany? That they're sisters is inconsequential or plain cruel. Might as well ignore it. "I want you," Hawke confesses quietly into her ear. "I want all of you."

"I—ah…" Bethany breathes unsteadily, the blood rushes to her face again. It's warm beneath Hawke's fingertips. Hawke wonders if it's because she's given Bethany exactly what she wants or Bethany doesn't know how to say 'no'. Usually that's a problem Hawke has, not Bethany. Isabela can testify to that. Success! Bethany should say no. But she doesn't want Bethany to say no. Can either one of them do that anymore? Hawke isn't sure how much longer 'if we don't lie down we won't go all the way' will work. Hawke thinks that she can take her standing. If she has to. Or just for kicks. It's not wrong. It's right. It's so wrong it's right. Which is the best kind of right. Right? "I thought you said that you didn't…"

"I know what I said." It was a lie. Like she tells most girls. But she'd said it to Bethany to have the opposite effect of what she really wanted. Getting her into bed. She'd tried to be good and failed. Oh well. These things happen. Especially when you have sweet, devoted girls who look like Bethany does.

Bethany's fingers coil around one of the belts wrapped around Hawke's frame. Hawke's knees go weak. Then Isabela calls for them to hurry it up. Her lilting, sensual voice stabs into Hawke like daggers. Hawke considers hitting her. She and Bethany separate quickly.

Bethany jogs off ahead, Hawke hopes because Bethany finds her irresistible. Up ahead, Isabela circles an arm around Bethany's shoulder and draws her close. Hawke's eyes narrow. Why does everything persist in torturing her? Here she is, frustrated again! And without a proper response from Bethany! Curse you, Isabela!

* * *

><p>It's late in the night and Marian has climbed up to her bunk. Bethany has been trying to sleep for hours but hasn't been able to. She knows that kissing Marian will only keep her up the remainder of the night. She'd like to get some rest and as much as she likes kissing Marian, what's the point in getting worked up? Marian never follows through. And isn't Marian still spending time with (she prefers to think of it this way than 'sleeping with') Athenril? Did she really mean it when she said she wanted all of her? She hasn't mentioned it since. And since when is Marian shy about taking what she wants?<p>

"Let me guess," Marian says, "you're thinking of Mother. You have to let it go, Bethy. You can't take on her worry. You'll get wrinkles—and well, I'm not interested in older women."

Bethany smiles faintly. She scoots over and Marian slides down next to her. Their mother is upset about their sorry lives and Carver. Their cheating uncle being a cheating uncle, lying about the will. There may be slavers in the old Amell state. Marian had made jokes but had promised her they'd investigate it. Sometimes Bethany thinks it would be all too easy to fall into sadness if it weren't for her jester of a sister. "Mother's so sad," Bethany focuses on the sensation of Hawke's teasing fingers along her arm, "maybe we should see to her."

"You know that I'll only annoy her with my cheeky reason."

"You _are _very annoying," Bethany admits. She looks at her. She's glad that Marian doesn't tell her to turn away so she doesn't have to see her face anymore. Maybe it all makes sense now. That's sweet. "If we could get the estate back it might make her happy."

"We will. Don't worry." Marian inches closer and laces their hands. "She's sleeping now. You should be, too." Bethany nods absently. "Is…something else the matter? You seem sad. And yes, I can tell these things. I'm not only a delightful party trick." Marian lifts Bethany's hand and brings it to her lips. "Tell me?"

"I can't help but think how things might be different if I weren't—"

"I know what you're thinking. Stop it." Marian frowns. Bethany tries to protest but Marian takes her face in her hands. "We wouldn't have it any other way. There have been sacrifices made—but you're worth every one of them."

Bethany smiles wryly. "Is that what you say to all the girls?" No wonder Marian's so popular. Who could ever say no to her? Is it any wonder she feels the way that she does? It isn't what should have happened and maybe previously she would have done anything to stop from feeling this way. She isn't sure anymore. "I know how popular you are."

"You're the only one that matters."

"What about Athenril?"

Marian hesitates. Bethany braces herself. "I… haven't seen her in weeks. She dumped me. For erm, not being properly attentive."

She tries to keep the excitement from her voice. Why hadn't Marian told her? Why hide it? Shouldn't it have made things easier for them? "Oh?"

"What is this? Are you teasing me? You're the first girl I've kissed that I haven't immediately bedded afterward. Doesn't that mean something? I should be praised for my remarkable self-control. I'm… you know, me. And you're… just look at you."

"You like me because I'm pretty?"

"It helps." Marian smiles. "You know that isn't all of it."

"You can't treat me like…" She hates bringing up the word between them. _Sister. _Since when did it become such a dirty thing? Since they've started behaving like kissing cousins? "What is this between us?" she asks in a whisper.

"Let's…pretend it doesn't matter. It's not as if we can have hideous children to give us away or anything." Marian grins; Bethany winces. "Look, I don't know. Honestly… I don't care. What's the harm in it? We'll not get pregnant. We'll not share it with anyone else. Think of it as being an apostate. Only more fun and even more secret. Because it will only be between the two of us." Marian strokes her face. "Maybe it's wrong. But if this is wrong I don't want to be right. Being right is overrated. Look at Aveline." She laughs nervously, then goes on, tentatively: "Is that horrible?"

Yes. Technically. Bethany takes an unsteady breath. "No." Could something so terrible make her feel so happy? Make her heart pound so wildly? "You're the only one I want." Yes. Marian is worth the sacrifice, the sacrifice of more secrecy. But… that could have its merits. Hadn't Isabela told her that sneaking around was the most fun a person could have? She does awful things but they all seem terribly fun.

Any guilt she has is taken the precise moment Marian claims her lips. Bethany kisses her back with urgency, she boldly removes Marian's shirt and smiles nervously when Marian unceremoniously strips Bethany's of hers, her smile predatory. It excites Bethany that Marian could ever look at her that way. The night air hits their skin. Bethany needs to be closer. She finds Marian's mouth again, her arms wrapping around her neck and drawing her near. Their bare skin touching is enough to make her lightheaded. She hisses softly when Marian teases at her flesh with her short nails. How can something that feels like this be wrong?

Whatever held Marian back before no longer hinders her. She kisses her neck and collarbone, she kisses her breasts, sucking on them, biting her nipples gently (this had not been in Mizzy's letter! It takes her by surprise) and her skillful hand stimulates every bit of her. Bethany waits for shame to manifest but it never does. She arches into Marian's touch; she can't get enough of her kiss, of her hands, of her flesh.

"Lie down," Marian whispers into Bethany's ear, kissing her earlobe before sliding Bethany's underwear away and letting them fall beside the bed. Bethany is surprised she's still alive and hasn't exploded from the blood rushing to her face and …other areas. Marian moans when she kisses her again, though Bethany can't understand why. Marian kisses her thighs; Bethany has known no feeling like this. She has only imagined such things and here they are happening and she can scarcely breathe! How do people get through this without having a panic attack? Is she weird? Should she be so nervous? Is she doing the right thing? Should she be doing more?! Blast! If it weren't for Mizzy's letter she may have foolishly asked what it was that Marian was intending on doing! How mortifying! Thank Mizzy, the glorious tart! Marian's breath is on her upper thighs—Bethany tenses. Marian rises, she touches her face gently. "I can stop."

Bethany shakes her head. No, no. She can't be a coward forever. And despite how nervous she may be she's never wanted anything more than this. "No. Don't. Please. I'll hate you if you do."

* * *

><p>Hawke smiles and kisses her sweetly. Bethany tries to reach between her legs (MAKER HELP HER) but Hawke stops her, despite how her body aches and desires to be touched. "Just relax," she breathes. Easier said than done. Oh, how she wants for Bethany to touch her but not yet, not now. She doesn't matter. Right now only Bethany exists. She should have known lying down would undo them! Who the void could have ever thought she'd be doing this with her sweet, younger sister? It's not wrong. It can't be. They're related! It's not sex. It's… masturbation… a few years removed.<p>

Hawke returns to Bethany's thighs, trailing her tongue along them, stroking her legs and the rest of her with her fingers, kissing slowly along her upper thigh until at last her lips and tongue reach Bethany's center. Bethany inhales sharply. She goes taut again but Hawke kisses her until all tension disappears. Bethany's fingertips fall gently like rain on Hawke's shoulders, gliding up to the back of her neck, to her hair, tentative and unsure, shy. Hawke thinks it's so adorable that she can't help wanting to laugh from delight. She won't. She'd hate for sweet Bethany to take it the wrong way. Bethany who doesn't say a word but can only make soft, dreamy sounds, until she's whispering and breathing Hawke's name as if she were the highest authority, as if there were nobody else, nobody better, as if she were her Maker.

When it's over and Bethany has adorably climaxed, Hawke kisses her tenderly. She tries not to fall over from how badly her body aches. It's just too soon to introduce the sweet but no longer virginal Bethany to scissoring. Maybe she can draw her a diagram. Later. Later. Now, this. Now, sweet Bethany spent beneath her, sweaty and magnificent. Hawke trails kisses along her hip and up her stomach, kissing her chin before kissing her full on the mouth. When she breaks their kiss she watches her languidly for minutes. Bethany is satisfied in regaining her breath, in touching experimentally along Hawke's body. Hawke allows it but focuses on Bethany, refusing to let desire cloud her thoughts or the happy feeling bursting through her. "Do you know how much I love you?" Hawke asks.

Bethany answers with a kiss.


End file.
